


Disrepair

by notitlesapply



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Creepy, Disturbing Themes, Gaslighting, Haunting, Hemophobia, Horror, Identity Issues, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Monster sex, Monsters, Multiple Endings, Nudity, Tragedy, Trypophobia, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-22 05:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15574482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notitlesapply/pseuds/notitlesapply
Summary: A man with no memories wakes up in a gray-lit town filled with broken buildings and crowned with a dreary sky. Gabriel doesn't have much, just a note and a promise that someone is waiting for him at a home that he doesn't remember. Gabriel has to get home to Jack. Nothing is going to stop him, not malevolent monsters nor missing memories. (Morrison, however, is a different story entirely.)Written for theR76 Big Bang





	1. Embark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Void (EroEmo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EroEmo/gifts).



> Notes: This was written as part of the R76 Big Bang! This fic has been fully written out.  
> I'll be posting a chapter a day until the whole thing is published. Also yes, there's multiple endings--those will all be posted at once.  
> I was paired up with the talented [ee-void](http://ee-void.tumblr.com/) who made some pretty amazing artwork for this fic. Void, thanks for being a great partner and making all my dreams come true :D
> 
>  Links for art:
> 
>  
> 
> [Monster!Reaper](http://ee-void.tumblr.com/post/176659098765)  
> [Morgue](http://ee-void.tumblr.com/post/176659180035)

A man with no memories woke up in a gray-lit town filled with broken buildings and crowned with a dreary sky. He was lying on a cracked asphalt street, completely out in the open. He sat up, muddled confusion humming in his head. Cliched, almost useless questions fly through his head. What day was it? Where was he? Who was he?

He should be panicking, or at least shouting for help. But there was no one near—just him and the gray world. With shaking hands, he patted himself down.

 _'I'll figure this out,'_ he thought with determination as his shaking died down. 

He's uninjured, which is a relief. He's wearing dark jeans, a gray hoodie with battered cuffs, and worn boots. A quick pass of his hand over his head reveals a knit beanie, and he can feel that he's wearing a poorly fitted shirt under the hoodie. A search of his pockets yields no phone, wallet, nor keys, but the hoodie has a pocket cleverly sewn in the inside lining over his left pectoral. That hidden pocket contains a single sheet of tightly folded paper.

The paper is a letter, addressed on the outside simply as to “Gabriel”—to him. The name clicks into place with such ease it's almost a surprise that he had forgotten it. Almost. His name is Gabriel, he knows that with such confidence that it is simply a fact, but anything else about himself is lost in a fog. It should be frightening, this lack of memories, but he has no time to panic. He only has himself to rely on, and he can only move forward.

He carefully unfolds the paper, distantly noting that the paper is deeply creased from folding and refolding as if he, the owner, often read and reread its contents before storing it away safely next to his heart. The letter's contents are short and written in a hurried hand in black ink. It says:

_Gabriel,_

_Meet you at home._

— _Jack_

It's almost a disappointment with how little is revealed, but nonetheless, Gabriel harvests what information he can. He knows someone named Jack, and...

He has a home.

–

Move forward. It's all Gabriel can really do. He needs to find basic necessities: food, water, and shelter. He's doesn't need them yet, but even without his memories he knows he's going to need them soon. He also needs to find people. It's odd that he hasn't come across anyone yet. He's in an urban environment, not lost in the woods. Someone _should_ be around.

“What _should_ be” is not the same as reality. As he walks through the gray town, he sees no sign of life besides his own. The few trees planted on the side of the road are barren leafless effigies, their empty branches reaching out to the gray sky like grasping hands. The town is just a maze of rundown buildings with boarded up windows and doors. The whole place seems abandoned. There are no people, no animals. No life. Even the color has been leeched out of this place, leaving everything gray and muted. It's so quiet, so very still. Gabriel can only hear his own breaths and the scuff of his footsteps.

This town is almost unreal in its emptiness. Gabriel finds unease curling in his gut. He rubs his hands over his arms despite the lack of chill. He's alone in this gray empty place. Alone. He's all alone. There's nothing here. Just like his memories. 

Nothing. There's nothing. Nothing at all. There's _nothing_ here!

Snarling in frustration, Gabriel slams his fist into a nearby wall. What the _fuck_ is he doing? He's wandering around in circles! He doesn't understand—doesn't know _anything_. What can he do?

He let out a breath. Unconsciously, his hand pressed over his heart—over the letter. He can't just give up. He had a home and, more importantly, someone waiting for him there. Jack.

Suddenly, a shrill shriek shattered the silence.

Gabriel is turning and running before he fully registers the noise. He's moving on pure instinct. But instead of running away, he runs _towards_ the sound, a feral grin lighting up his face. He doesn't notice. His body is on autopilot.

 _This_ feels familiar. It sings in his bones and in his heart, this feeling of _danger, danger_ _; run, run, run—fight, fight,_ _ **fight.**_ He feels so alive—he feels like he's burning up. He runs towards a chain-link fence, and scales it without a second thought, his momentum allowing him to swing over the barricade with graceful ease.

It's instinct to roll with the landing, then spring back up, alert and ready. And then, he stops cold at the sight that greets him. For the first time since he woke up, he lays his eyes on something that isn't drab and gray.

It's red. 

There's so much red. So much. Vibrant red liquid paints the ground, and seeps into the cracks on the road, like a thirsty field sucking up water. Gabriel knows what this is without being told.

It's brutality. Blood is spilled all across the street, crimson splattered and sprayed out in mad visceral patterns. There's so, _so_ much, and it glistens wetly in the dim light. It's fresh. The scent of copper is unbelievably strong; Gabriel can practically taste it on his tongue, as if he had been sucking on pennies. 

He feels bile rise in his throat, and he swallows it down. He can't break down now; he refuses to. Gabriel takes shallow breaths through his mouth, trying to avoid the bloody stench. There's so much red, so much blood, and there's something about this scene that makes the inside of his head itch. 

He's seen this before.

The thought is persistent, nagging at his mind. He's _seen_ this before. But where? How?

Gabriel looked closer.

There's a lump in the center of all that red. His curiosity beats out the caution that starts buzzing in his veins. Carefully (or was it carelessly?) Gabriel takes a few steps towards it, his boots slipping slightly in the blood. When he gets close enough to get a good look, the bottom of his stomach falls out. 

In the center of the blood pool is a person. Or rather what was left of one. The body is drenched in blood, turning every scrap of clothing it's wearing bright crimson—even the leather jacket it wears. The face was so thoroughly coated in blood that Gabriel had a hard time making out any features. The cracked red visor that rested over the eyes didn't help either. The corpse's torso was heavily damaged with huge holes punched through the flesh like Swiss cheese. The left arm was barely attached with a strip of sinew barely an inch wide. But it's the right hand that grabs Gabriel's attention. 

Barbed wire wound tightly down the limb, piercing through the leather jacket and into the dead flesh underneath. The wire curled tightly around the corpse's hand, binding a rifle to its grip.

The rifle was stocky looking weapon, something built with purpose and practicality in mind rather than beauty. It looked heavy—it probably required two hands to handle unless the user felt like getting knocked on their ass from recoil. Like its owner, the gun was covered in blood, completely obscuring whatever paint job lay beneath, and red liquid was oozing into the grooves. It would be a miracle if the gun could fire with all the filth that undoubtedly made its way inside the firing mechanism.

Still, Gabriel knew that having a weapon would be useful, and it wasn't like the dead guy was going to use it. He reached towards the gun. 

Quick as a viper, the corpse's left hand snapped up, and snagged Gabriel's wrist.

“Holy fucking shit!” Gabriel yelled, his heart rate skyrocketing in an instant. Panicking, Gabriel wrenched his hand up, trying to get away from the animated corpse. He heard a wet, sickening _riiiip_ as the scrap of flesh holding the corpse's arm in place tore away. Despite the disconnection, cold fingers tightened around Gabriel's wrist in a vise-like grip.

Gabriel shouted wordlessly, trying to pry the hand off of him. After a frantic, mad struggle, he was able to wrench the thing off, and fling it away. To his shock, the arm flew back to the (not so) dead body. The limb did not reattach fully with regrown flesh and bone, but instead drifted into its proper spot, staying in position as if invisible string sewed the arm back to its rightful place.

Fear's icy tendrils wormed their way into Gabriel's heart, freezing him in place and forcing him to watch as the corpse slowly stood up, liquid crimson still pouring from its wounds. Some distantly numb part of Gabriel's mind noted that a real human couldn't possibly contain so much blood. This... _creature_ was completely unnatural.

 _'No shit!'_ the rest of Gabriel's brain mentally shrieked back. 

For a moment, the monster simply stood there, its head bent low. It turned and flexed its unattached limb, balling the fingers up in a fist then spreading them out to test their movement. It opened its mouth, as if to speak, but made no sound. Instead, fresh crimson bubbled up from its ruined lips and dripped down its chin, the fat droplets splattering on the already soaked ground. The messy display made Gabriel's stomach lurch, and subconsciously, his shaky legs stumbled backwards until his back hit the weathered wood door of a nearby shop.

He should have run. Moved. Done _something_. But his shell-shocked mind couldn't help but stare at the bloody corpse in horrified fascination. It looked like...it looked almost... _familiar_.

A strangled noise made its way out of Gabriel's throat.

The creature snapped its head up at the sound, the visor it wore glowing with hellish light. Gabriel felt like a moth pinned in place by the monster's stare. The rifle's barrel rose to level with Gabriel's chest. Again the creature made no noise, but even so, Gabriel could hear cold words echo in his skull.

_**I've got you in my sights.** _

Gabriel froze. 

He would have died then. He _should_ have. But a sharp _click click_ from the rifle confirmed Gabriel's earlier assessment. The gun was jammed.

The visor the monster wore flared up again with sinister light, as if in irritation. It smacked its free hand against the side of the weapon, trying to dislodge the block. Gabriel seized his chance, wrenched the door to his back wide open, and darted inside.

_Run, run,_ _**run** _ _. Don't stop._

He ran through the twisting corridors inside the guts of the dilapidated building, feeling like a rat in a maze. The creature gave chase, the heavy thud of its boots echoing behind Gabriel, uncomfortably close. Gabriel swore, trying to pick up the pace. As he sprinted, he shoved over and pulled down random objects he passed—tables, shelving, old boxes—all in hopes of slowing the monster down.

Despite its ruined appearance, the creature was agile, deftly dodging debris, and nimbly scaling the makeshift barriers Gabriel tossed down. It was a fast fucker too, its strangely smooth stride eating up ground like it was nothing. As soon as it was close enough, it swiped at Gabriel, using the rifle like a bat. 

The gun made solid contact with Gabriel's back, sending the man sprawling down the hallway and into a nearby filing cabinet, denting the cheap metal. Gabriel tried to recover, but the creature smashed its weapon into Gabriel's back again, sending him back down and causing him to cry out.

Gabriel curled up, his arms coming up to protect his head, as he tried to prepare for the next blow. It never came.

Suddenly, a speeding figure bull-rushed into the monster, sending it flying back. To Gabriel's shock it was a human—a person. Before the creature could recover, the newcomer grabbed the dented cabinet and flung it at monster, all in one fluid movement. _Bam_! Direct hit. The monster was pinned—momentarily. Gabriel was tugged upward, his savior already pulling him away in another direction.

“Come on!” Gabriel's rescuer shouted, “That won't keep 'em down for long!”

The other led Gabriel down another set of zigzagging hallways made of decaying plaster walls. Gabriel quickly lost track of where they were going. Abruptly, his savior shoved them both through a doorway and into a tiny closet. Gabriel's flash of confusion quickly fizzled out when the other pressed a finger to lips in the universal sign for silence.

Right. Hiding then.

The stranger barely glanced at Gabriel, instead focusing on peering through the wooden slats that made up the closet door, carefully scanning for the monster. Gabriel left the other be, concentrating on calming his body down. He took a few slow breaths, trying to slow his heart and quiet his tired panting. He pressed a hand over his heart, over the letter, and quietly reassured himself. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the closet, he turned his attention to observing the stranger.

His savior was a well built man, roughly the same height as Gabriel himself. The stranger was mostly dressed in bland neutral-colored clothing, save for a pair of red motorcycle gloves. He had white hair and a pale face lined with both age and scars. The largest scar, an old angry red line that had healed poorly, nearly bisected his face as it trailed over his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, and down his cheek. A second scar, which cut across his lips, looked equally as ragged.

But it was the stranger's eyes that drew Gabriel's attention. They were a brilliant shade of blue—a bright vibrant color that seemed at odds with drab grays and disturbing crimsons Gabriel had seen so far. That vivid blue strangely seemed more _real_ than anything Gabriel had ever witnessed in his admittedly short memory. More alive. 

It hit Gabriel just then—finally he wasn't alone. There was someone else. Someone _alive_.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Gabriel's rescuer slowly opened the door. The hinges creaked slightly, causing both men to wince. They waited a moment with bated breath, but the blood-covered corpse didn't reappear. 

“Thanks,” Gabriel said gratefully.

“No prob—” the other man began, only for the words to die in his mouth as he turned to face Gabriel properly for the first time. Brilliant blue eyes widened, shock written plainly all over scarred features. Gabriel frowned, completely confused.

“Something wrong?” Gabriel asked. Was there something on his face?

The other man quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral, and started to reply, when suddenly a deep throaty chuckle cut him off. The sound echoed all around them, bouncing off the walls and making it impossible to locate the source. Gabriel shivered as the temperature in the whole hallway suddenly dropped, causing his breath to come out in white frosted plumes. The already dim lighting started to flicker, causing the shadows to thicken.

“Shit!” the stranger hissed, his whole body tensing as he looked around warily, “'Reaper'!”

Before Gabriel could ask what the “Reaper” was, the shadows in the hall suddenly writhed like a body convulsing in death throes. Dozens of crimson eyes and fang-filled mouths opened up in the roiling mass of darkness. The red orbs practically glowed with hunger and madness, and that deep laugh started layering on itself in a disjointed chorus as more grinning jaws bloomed into existence.

“Run!” the white-haired man barked out, already dashing away from the living shadows. Gabriel didn't have to be told twice, and rushed to follow the other man.

Behind them, the tangled knot of shadows twisted and contorted into itself, slowly condensing into solid form. Gabriel didn't have time to get a good look at the laughing beast that slowly clawed its way out of the smoky darkness. He was too busy running for his life. Again.

The two humans rounded a corner, only to be stopped dead in their tracks when they found the first blood-stained monster standing at the end of the hallway. 

“Fuck,” Gabriel's new friend swore, his body as tense as a bowstring, “I forgot about 'Soldier.'”

At first, Gabriel wondered why the other man called the walking corpse the “Soldier.” Then he thought back to when he saw the creature in motion; crisp clean movements—economical and efficient, despite the ruin of its flesh. At rest it stood completely still and straight, its face looking directly ahead—a Soldier at perfect attention.

At the moment, the “Soldier” remained motionless—simply blocking their escape as the “Reaper” made its way over from behind them. His heart hammering in his chest, Gabriel turned to face the still laughing shadow creature.

The “Reaper” was a nightmarish figure only vaguely shaped like a human. It had no legs, instead gliding forward on a mess of curling smoky shadows, wild red eyes, and snapping mouths. That same roiling darkness flowed around its body to make a hooded cloak. Underneath the hood was a yawning black void and a slash of a mouth grinning in the darkness. It had dark talons for hands, the claws wickedly curved and easily capable of gutting a man. The torso was only a skeletal rib cage, the bleached bones a startling contrast to the deep darkness of the “Reaper's” shadows. Oddly enough, the rib cage wasn't empty. Inside was a snarl of barbed wire cradling a still beating heart.

Gabriel's jaw clenched. His companion was staring at the shadow creature with an utterly hopeless expression stamped across his face. They were trapped. Dead. So dead. And judging by the “Reaper's” snickering, the monsters knew it too. Through the laughter, Gabriel swore he heard the “Reaper” murmur a sneering taunt. 

_**Death comes.** _

“Yeah, fuck you,” Gabriel growled out defiantly. There was still a way out of this. 

He rammed his whole body against the nearby wall. Just as he predicted, the old shabby barrier broke under his weight, and he tumbled through to the other side.

But, instead of falling into another room, he kept falling. And falling. And _falling._ He tumbled helplessly through a unending pit, trying and failing to right himself. He cried out, completely at the mercy of gravity and the darkness around him.

As he fell, he thought he heard someone calling out his name. But that was impossible. 

Gabriel blacked out before he hit the ground.


	2. Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuts for an autopsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since [one of ee-void's art works](http://ee-void.tumblr.com/post/176659180035/) relates to this chapter, I figured I should post this now.

Gabriel awoke to the sounds of voices. The words seemed odd; they echoed and vibrated not in his ears, but in the marrow of his bones. A spike of fear shot through him. Those strange monsters from before—“Reaper” and “Soldier”—had sounded like that. Their “voices” had been like noiseless whispers in the dead of night when no one was around—less true sound and more like the illusory murmurs the mind came up when poisoned with creeping horror. The “Soldier's” voice had been deep, but quiet, like the last breath before dying. The “Reaper's” was the victorious glee of a predator ripping into its prey. 

Before Gabriel could make out what they were saying, the voices fell silent. Then all sound seemed to cut off, leaving Gabriel in a void of nothingness. He couldn't even hear his own heartbeat or his breaths.

He was alone.

Gabriel's eyes sprang open with a gasp. Suddenly, the world snapped back into focus, sight and sound burgeoning into existence. He was in some dim dark room, the steady _drip, drip_ of liquid echoing throughout. Gabriel wasn't sure whether it was better or worse than the soundless void. 

_Drip...drip..._

Where was that sound coming from?

He tried jerking his body upwards, only to be stopped by firm bonds. White hot terror exploded through his veins as he tugged at his wrists. Thick leather straps held his arms down, and a futile kick confirmed the presence of more ties on his legs.

He tried to calm his breathing. He failed.

He was laying on a metal gurney in a cold room. He had been completely stripped of his clothing. Goosebumps broke out over his naked skin; there was nothing to spare him from the chill. There were nearly a dozen other medical gurneys nearby, each one holding a body. Corpses, all of them, the lifeless forms far too still, and more than half of them split open. The gurney next to him carried a cadaver with still open eyes, the glassy orbs staring off into forever. Gabriel shivered when he realized where exactly he was.

A morgue.

“Oh God,” Gabriel gasped, pulling at his bonds again. He was trapped. He was going to die. He was going to _die_. He was going to die die _die_...

He yanked _hard_ at the binding on his right wrist. The leather bit into his skin, chaffing it. He didn't care. Gabriel pulled again. He was rewarded with a slight ripping sound. 

But just as freedom was in reach, something _else_ snatched his wrist and slammed it back down to the cold metal surface.

“Fuck!” Gabriel swore, part in pain and part in pure panic. He looked up, just in time to see the shadows pull away from the familiar blood-soaked figure holding him down.

“Fuck,” Gabriel cursed again, quieter this time, when he came face to face with the “Soldier.” He closed his eyes, trembling. In response, the monster tightened its grip, causing the bones in Gabriel's wrist to grind together.

There was a lengthy pause, filled only with the sound of Gabriel's panting and that steady _drip, drip_. Gabriel felt a curl of unease squeeze his stomach when he realized where that dripping sound was coming from. The “Soldier” was still bleeding, fresh crimson bubbling up from the punched out holes in its torso. Gabriel could _smell_ it, that too rich copper scent. It clogged his nose, tickled the back of his throat, and teased his mind with that damnable sense of familiarity. What did that say about him and his forgotten past that the scent of _blood_ was so familiar, even more familiar than the back of his own hand? 

Suddenly, an unexpected touch ghosted over his arm.

Slowly, carefully, Gabriel cracked his eyes open. The “Soldier” wasn't looking at him at all, its hell fire colored visor staring straight ahead at the wall and into nothingness. The monster had managed to tighten up Gabriel's bonds, fettering Gabriel firmly to the gurney. That bloody rifle was still lashed to the “Soldier's” right hand, but his left (the unattached one that stayed in place in defiance of _gravity_ ) was skating over Gabriel's body, seemingly without the “Soldier's” conscious thought.

There were old scars crisscrossing all over Gabriel's body, mementos of a past Gabriel couldn't remember. Without looking, the “Soldier's” hand traced each one, leaving bloody trails all across Gabriel's skin. First, that touch skimmed down his arm, charting a path of old wounds down the limb and across his torso. It grazed his ribs and stomach. There was a soft touch to his hip. Gabriel's breathing hitched when that gory hand traced reverent lines against his cheek.

In contrast to the rough handling from earlier, the creature's touch was light, almost gentle, but thoughtless. The monster seemed detached and indifferent to Gabriel, despite the touching. Then the “Soldier's” fingers stopped trailing across scars, and began sketching out long lines from each of Gabriel's shoulders to his sternum before dragging down to his belly. Gabriel didn't need to see the red “Y” that the creature drew on him to know what those marks were.

Cuts for an autopsy.

“Stop,” Gabriel croaked, his heart hammering in his chest. The gore covered hand paused, hovering over Gabriel's skin, no longer in contact. Gabriel's breath sped up, hyper aware of the monster. It didn't move, even as Gabriel started to thrash again. It stood so still, Gabriel could have almost been fooled into believing it was a statue. 

Gabriel swallowed, his skin prickling with tension. The “Soldier's” face had never turned to look at Gabriel, not once, not even as it had mapped Gabriel's scars so thoroughly. Only its hand had moved. Now, its body was so frozen that it was almost as if the creature had gone completely inanimate. It was like a windup toy that suddenly stopped working, and it unnerved the _shit_ out of Gabriel.

Out of nowhere, sharp _bangs_ and the crashes of a fight shattered the silence. The growl of a predator on the hunt sounded out in the distance. Gabriel shivered when he recognized the “Reaper's” strange not-voice.

_**Enemy sighted.** _

It was like flipping a switch. The “Soldier” seemed to come to life, all at once. It snapped to attention and sprang into motion. It turned away from Gabriel, seeming to have forgotten all about the human at its mercy. Effortless strides had the monster sweeping out the door in moments as the “Soldier” responded to the “Reaper's” call.

_**Understood.** _

–

Gabriel waited for a handful of far too long minutes to make sure the “Soldier” was truly gone before trying to escape again.

“Fuck!” Gabriel yanked at his bindings again, snarling in frustration. Whatever the “Soldier” had done to the leather straps had stolen whatever leverage Gabriel once had against his bindings. When Gabriel tried pulling, this time the straps stayed still.

Gabriel grit his teeth and tried twisting futilely yet again. This was his only chance to escape. He had no idea when the “Soldier” would come back.

Distantly, he heard the “Reaper's” mad laughter punctuated with the staccato beat of gunfire. Gabriel's stomach dropped. It looked like the “Soldier” had fixed his rifle.

Suddenly, a sharp _clatter_ echoed throughout the room. Gabriel jerked his head up, and spotted an open vent. Its grate was on the floor, undoubtedly the source of the noise. There was a brief moment of nothing, and then a head poked out from the vent to look over at where Gabriel lay trapped.

Gabriel mouth dropped in surprise when his gaze locked into brilliant blue eyes.

“You again...” Gabriel blurted out, instantly recognizing the stranger that had saved his life previously. 

“Hey,” the other man grunted as he wiggled his way out of the vent. His landing was less than graceful, but Gabriel didn't care. The blue-eyed man pulled a knife out and hacked away at Gabriel's bonds.

“Holy fucking shit,” Gabriel's savior swore with feeling at catching sight of the blood painting Gabriel's torso, “Are you—”

“It's not mine,” Gabriel said in a rush, “Shit, just...get me out of here!”

The other man's jaw tightened with determination, and he went back to sawing with the knife, “You got it.”

As soon as the last binding was gone, Gabriel leaped off the table, and shook out his limbs. This was the second time that this man had saved Gabriel's life. Gabriel decided that he knew who his favorite person was—not that he knew anyone else to begin with.

“Thanks,” Gabriel murmured, trying to ignore the slight shake in his voice. He had almost died. Again. And he had been saved. Again. The previous fearful tension drained out of him, and Gabriel let his body slump over, just a little bit. He was safe, for now.

Gabriel's savior waved his hand dismissively, and pointedly looked away from Gabriel, “Don't...don't mention it. Do you, uh, do you know where they put your, um, your _clothes_?”

Gabriel looked down at himself, scoffing under his breath. It wasn't that he had _forgotten_ that he was sans clothes, it was just it hadn't been _important_. However, now that it had been pointed out...

Suddenly, a bundle of gray cloth was shoved under his nose, snapping him out of his thoughts. He blinked at his savior who now was missing an outer layer of clothing.

“Here,” the other man offered, waving what was obviously his own hooded sweatshirt, “Before you freeze your balls off.”

“...Thanks,” Gabriel murmured as he took the hoodie. It was similar to the one he had before when he had first woken up in this strange place. The gray cloth was well worn and slightly frayed from too many washings. There was a faded name written on the inside of the collar. He couldn't make out what it due to the smudged and running ink, but the name seemed to begin with an “R.”

After he slipped on the hoodie, Gabriel stuck his hand out.

“I'm Gabriel,” he introduced himself, mentally berating himself for not doing this the first time they had met. The other man seemed almost startled as he stared at Gabriel's hand. After a moment, he took Gabriel's hand, gripping it firmly.

“...Morrison,” he replied after a pregnant pause.

“Morrison,” Gabriel repeated, feeling the name around his mouth carefully. It settled nicely on his tongue, “It's nice to meet you, Morrison. Thanks for the save.”

The other man looked at him, those brilliant blue eyes startlingly intense. Morrison seemed to study Gabriel's face, searching for an answer to a question only he knew. Gabriel blinked at him, trying not to feel self-conscious. That gaze held so much weight.

After a few more moments, Morrison looked away.

“Don't mention it,” he murmured again.

–

The pair quickly exited the morgue, and into a maze of corridors. The hallways twisted and turned, seemingly at random. The walls were covered in fractured plaster, the cracks splitting open with rust-red grime that reminded Gabriel uncomfortably of drying blood. Rot and mold were everywhere.  Most of the doors they passed were closed tight, but a handful were open, revealing rooms with dead ends. Gabriel spotted a dirty operating room with gray-green puddles on the ground, a supply closet with cobwebbed shelves stacked high with boxes, and an office with a wall that ballooned with mold, the dark fetid blight bulging from the plaster like a pregnant belly.

“What the fuck is this place?” Gabriel wondered, eyeing the putrid walls suspiciously, “And how the fuck do we get out?”

“We need to find the elevator,” Morrison explained as they hurried along, keeping his voice hushed so not to alert the monsters, “We need to get to the ground floor, and out into the street. We're just sitting ducks in the hospital wing.”

“I thought we were in a morgue, not a hospital,” Gabriel muttered, “And shouldn't you know where the elevator is? How did you get here?”

Morrison flashed Gabriel an expression that was more of a grimace than a smile, “The same way you did, Gabe.”

Gabriel huffed, “So falling down an endless pit into hell, got it.”

Another one of those grimace-smiles flitted across Morrison's scarred features, “Something like that, yeah.”

They turned right, passing through yet another dilapidated hallway. Bloody puddles and streaks stained the floor here, and Gabriel cursed when his bare feel almost slipped in the slick crimson liquid. The “Soldier” must have been through here recently.

“So you have no idea where the elevator is, do you?” Gabriel grumbled, trying not to think about how close the monsters were.

Morrison scowled at Gabriel, his blue eyes flashing, “Look, if you have a better idea, let's hear it. That distraction I set up won't keep 'Reaper' or 'Soldier' occupied for long.”

Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. Was there a better option to wandering around in circles looking for an elevator that may or may not exist? 

Subconsciously, his hand drifted to clutch at the hoodie's front, pressing down against a hidden pocket that wasn't there to reassure himself. His brain stuttered to a halt. His letter. Oh fuck, his letter, how could he have forgotten his _letter_?

Gabriel didn't care about his missing clothes, but his letter was a different story. It was _important,_ more import than anything. He felt its loss keenly, and panic threatened to consume his mind.

It's stupid to want to rush back for a piece of paper. The letter isn't very long, and Gabriel knows all the words, but even so...he wants it, needs it almost. That piece of paper is his only tie to his identity. It's proof that he's not alone in this world. He has a home. He has someone waiting for him.

(Jack's waiting for him.)

Perhaps it's idiotic, but it's all he has. That letter is an anchor. Without it he feels even more lost, and the already tenuous grasp he has on his identity seems weaker than ever. His desire to go back for it is not truly his choice at all. He has to go back. He _needs_ to go back. It'll eat him alive otherwise.

“You alright?” Morrison asked as Gabriel tried getting his breathing under control.

“There's something that was taken from me—a letter,” Gabriel tried to explain, “I need it back.”

“A letter,” Morrison arched his brow, his face incredulous, “You want to risk your life for a piece of _paper_. Holy shit—Gabe, have you lost your fucking mind?!” 

Gabriel tried to hold his temper. He _tried._ But the stress, fear, and angry desperation that made up all of his known memories had built up to a boiling point. Morrison's anger sparked his own, and Gabriel just _snapped._

“Yes, you fucker!” Gabriel growled back, “I don't—fuck, I don't remember anything past _yesterday_.”

Morrison reeled back, his eyes widening in shock, “Gabe, I—”

Gabriel snarled, words spilling out of him and trampling over Morrison's apology, “Do you know what it's like waking up in some fucking hell on earth and not knowing who the fuck you are? Shit!”

Gabriel shoved at Morrison, completely at the mercy of his rage, “Maybe you don't give a crap, but that letter's all I got. So, you can go looking for your fucking elevator without me! I'm going to go get my letter whether you like it or not, asshole!”

Morrison's hands grabbed at Gabriel's shoulders, shaking him. 

“Stop, Gabe,” Morrison pleaded, worry written all over his face, “Just...stop.”

The genuine concern in those blue eyes startled Gabriel, causing the anger to drain out of him suddenly, leaving only plaintive weariness, “...It says I have a _home_ , Morrison. Do you know what that's like? To have a home, but not know where it is?”

“Home, huh,” Morrison murmured as he closed his eyes, his hands still gripped tight on Gabriel's shoulders. Gabriel noticed it then, the faint tremor that ran along Morrison's arms. The expression on Morrison's face wasn't quite sorrow, but it was close. It was something raw and ragged, unaddressed and unhealed. 

It hit Gabriel like a lightning bolt. Him and Morrison—they were the same. The exact same: two lost souls trying to get home. Gabriel breathed in, his lingering frustration fading into nothing. He bit his tongue as Morrison slowly collected himself. It took a moment, but Morrison finally let go of Gabriel's shoulders, and leaned back with a sigh.

“Okay,” Morrison muttered, his voice gaining strength as a sense of calm settled over him, “Okay. We'll go get your letter, Gabe.” 

Gabriel stared at the other man in surprise.

“'We?'” he echoed. 

Morrison rolled his eyes, “Yeah. You think I'd let you go alone?”


	3. Regard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare voice, a ghost of a sigh from a dying body

Getting back Gabriel's letter was easier said than done.

In all honesty, Gabriel has no idea where the monsters could have taken his things. Logically, he knows there's a high probability that they're back in the morgue room he woke up in. He hadn't seen his clothes (or more importantly, his letter) in there, but he's willing to acknowledge that during his and Morrison's frantic flight out of that room, neither of them had spared a glance around.

But Gabriel had little desire to go rushing back there. Who knew where the monsters were at the moment? It made sense that the "Soldier" would have gone back, and Gabriel was none too keen on facing off against the blood-soaked creature, especially now that Gabriel _knew_ that the monster's rifle was in working order again.

(Gabriel and Morrison had passed by a wall peppered with neat clustered holes that had been punched in and burned into the plaster. Gabriel didn't need memories from a gun range to know what made those marks.) 

Gabriel had no idea where the monsters were now. The sound of the "Reaper's" crazed laughter and the "Soldier's" gunshots had faded away. Morrison's distraction (whatever it was) had run out. The creatures could be anywhere doing anything. They could be back wandering around the hallways. Or perhaps they had simply fallen still in some random room like broken dolls.

"This is bad," Gabriel muttered to himself, as he thought through their plan of attack, "So we can either wander the hallways until the monsters find us—" 

"Yeah, pass," Morrison said drolly, rolling his eyes, "I thought we were trying to be smart about this, Gabe." 

Gabriel scowled, crossing his arms, "I am being smart. I'm saying we have to have a plan. We're not going to go look for horrors birthed fully formed from the mind of a mad god."

Morrison's lips quirked up in a faded smirk at that, "Dramatic much?"

Gabriel snorted, trying to cover up a smile. It was so _easy_ bantering back and forth with Morrison. It was as if they had done it dozens, maybe even hundreds of times. Simple, familiar. It was good despite the circumstances.

"Shut up," Gabriel grumbled, but the words lacked heat, "We'll need to continue searching this floor—find the elevator and my stuff."

"Want to split up?" Morrison suggested, "We can cover more ground."

"No," Gabriel shook his head immediately, "We don't have a way of communicating with each other if we were apart. Besides, I like working with you."

Morrison hummed in agreement. There's a faint upward curl to Morrison's scarred lips. It's not enough to be called a smile, but it's something positive. Gabriel isn't sure what he makes of that—Morrison's personal opinion that is. Gabriel is just glad that he's not alone. He recognizes that he's lonely. Besides Morrison, Gabriel doesn't know anyone.

Well, there is Jackwho is waiting for Gabriel at home. But Gabriel doesn't remember who Jack is—he just knows that Jack is _important_ , that Jack is going to meet him at home. That means _something,_ and although Gabriel can't put a name to the feeling, it fills the hollow in his chest with something warm and light. Idly, Gabriel wonders if Jack would mind if Morrison followed Gabriel home...if Morrison and Jack would get along. Would Morrison even want to join Gabriel?

Before Gabriel could decide one way or the other, the lights flickered, throwing sharp shadows across the ruined wall. Then, he heard it. It was a quiet whisper—less true sound and more imaginary murmurs felt in bones and in the brain. It was a nightmare voice, a ghost of a sigh from a dying body, accompanied by a wet _drip, drip_ and the scent of a slaughterhouse.

_**Enemy contact.** _

Gabriel turned, his body moving almost involuntarily, to see the "Soldier" round a corner. The creature walked towards them calmly, as if it had all the time in the world.

For a second, Gabriel froze, only able to stare at the blood-clad figure moving inevitably closer. The footfalls of its boots were eerily silent, leaving only that maddening dripping to echo throughout the hallway.

_Drip. Drip._

It echoed in Gabriel's head, and drummed angrily at the empty spaces of his memories. There was something...so...familiar...

"You got to be shitting me!" Morrison cursed angrily, shattering the haze that blanked Gabriel's mind. Morrison swore again as he grabbed Gabriel by the bicep, and forcibly _tugged._

"Shit," Gabriel breathed shakily, mentally ordering his legs to get fucking _moving_ , " _Shit!"_

"Run," Morrison snarled, yanking Gabriel with him as Gabriel tried to get his bearings, "You stupid sonova _bitch_ , RUN!"

The pair of them stumbled forward before quickly finding their footing, and sprinting forward. Gabriel chanced a glance back at the "Soldier." The monster continued its steady pace towards them. It didn't speed up or appear agitated. It didn't even aim its weapon at their retreating backs. It simply moved forward, an inexorable force that promised only one conclusion. 

"Come on, this way!" Morrison encouraged, sprinting through the maze of corridors. Gabriel grit his teeth, determined to keep up.

Left. Right. Left. Left. Right.

Morrison seemed to zigzag everywhere, the pattern obviously meant to be confusing. It was a good plan, trying to lose the monster in the twists and turns. But Gabriel couldn't help but glance back behind himself. The "Soldier" wasn't directly behind them, but something else equally as damning was.

Footprints. Red bloody _footprints._

Gabriel felt his breath catch. They had...they had passed through a bloody hallway. Earlier. The floors had been slick with the stuff. Morrison had been able to avoid the mess, but Gabriel had almost slipped in it. Gabriel's bare feet had been tracking blood everywhere, and he hadn't _noticed._

Gabriel snagged Morrison's arm, jerking his chin to the damned trail they had behind them. Blue eyes widened in horror.

"We need to split up," Gabriel said, his voice sounding hollow in his ears. Morrison stiffened in Gabriel's hold.

"No," Morrison growled, swift and absolute.

"Don't be a moron!" Gabriel snapped back, "It can fucking follow me! I can lead it away! We need to split up!"

"No," Morrison said again, resolute.

"Morrison..."

"I said _no_ , Gabe!" Morrison barked, something sharp sparking in his blue _blue_ eyes, "I'm not leaving you behind!"

Gabriel gaped at Morrison as the other man tugged them both forward again, and they fell back into a jog. Gabriel felt—fuck, he didn't know how he felt. Logically, Morrison was being stupid. The "Soldier" could track them—track Gabriel—easily. That's why the creature was practically strolling along without a care in the world. Splitting up was the smart thing to do. And it wasn't like Morrison owed Gabriel anything. (If anything, Gabriel was the one with the debt to pay.) They had just met. Morrison shouldn't be so _attached._

But at the same time...Gabriel could feel the heat of Morrison's hands despite the gloves Morrison wore. Morrison's fingers faintly trembled as he gripped at Gabriel, determination, worry, and thick poisonous _fear_ causing the grasp to be firm, but warm. Gabriel could see the stubborn line of Morrison's jaw, the creases around his tight mouth, and the brightly burning _blue_ of his eyes. 

Those eyes were so _clear—_ solid and realwhen all the rest of the world felt like a fever dream.

"We're going to die," Gabriel reminded Morrison, even as he continued to follow.

"You're not going to die, Gabe," Morrison rasped, firm resolve lighting up his eyes with an almost feverish glow, "Trust me."

A knot formed in Gabriel's throat, and an awful seesawing motion rolled through his stomach. It was like he was being pulled in different directions, his jumbled thoughts tumbling over each other.

 _'I trust you,'_ part of Gabriel answered mentally, with all the firm conviction of a true believer.

 _'What about you, Morrison?_ ' another part of Gabriel wanted to scream, _'What about_ _ **your**_ _safety, you stupid bastard?!'_

And yet another whispered, _'I've known you for less than a day...why do you care? Why do I?'_

Gabriel locked his words behind his lips. This wasn't the time. Later. There was always later.

(If they didn't die.)

The pair rounded a corner, and Gabriel had to bite down on a startled bark of hysterical panicked laughter that threatened to break out of him at the sight of stainless steel doors in front of them. After giving up trying to find the elevator, here it was, right in front of their noses. Gabriel didn't have to think about it; he mashed the button to call the cab up.

"You said the ground floor had an exit to the street?" Gabriel double-checked. Morrison nodded, gesturing to a worn building map that was tacked up to the wall next to the elevator. He was staring intently at the map, his blue eyes roving over it with an intense laser focus. Gabriel gave the faded paper a quick once over. The ground floor did in fact have a main exit clearly labeled close to the elevator. 

Their ticket to freedom.

"Come on, come on," Gabriel muttered under his breath as he listened to the elevator ping through the floors. If the elevator was quick enough, they could make their escape. Just a little bit more...

Suddenly, the scent of copper assailed his senses.

_Drip. Drip._

"Fuck," Gabriel hissed, as the "Soldier" turned the corner. The monster walked steadily towards them, uncaring and unconcerned. Why would it be worried? It had its prey trapped between itself and a closed door that was _not fucking opening!_

Gabriel smashed the elevator button vigorously, despite knowing that it would do no good. His breathing sped up, his heart beating wildly against his rib cage. The "Soldier" truly did look like something created from the mind of a mad god. The flickering lights in the hallway caused skittering shadows and too bright glares bounce across the monster's crimson slick form in sickening patterns. Fresh moist red, glinting in the seizing light source, served to highlight the deep pitted holes that were punched through the creature. The "Soldier's" real eyes were covered in that cracked hell fire visor, but the gaping wounds that tore its torso open served well enough as accusing glares.

Again Gabriel felt frozen. Rooted in place as doom marched towards him. His head hurt. His chest...his heart. Something...something was...something was...

Part of him wanted to shy away from it. But he ignored the caution, and reached into his mind, searching, trying to grasp on what amounted to wispy spider-silk and shadow-stuff. A ghost of something came to him.

_Footsteps in the dark. A timeworn dance, easy as breathing, predictable. A burst of discordant sound. His hands gripping a dragging weight._

_White noise and static. Red lips with a faint smile. An empty blue sky._

_And then..._

Suddenly, the thread broke. A sharp jostling to his side brought him crashing back to _here, now_. There was a blur, and then, _insanely,_ Morrison was leaping forward right at the "Soldier," his knife out and glinting in the crappy lighting like a defiant star in a cloudy night.

"What the fuck are you _doing?!"_ Gabriel shouted, panic gripping him as Morrison (stupid, noble, _reckless_ Morrison) slashed at the monster.

"Distraction," Morrison grunted as his hit was neatly sidestepped. He stepped forward and lashed out with his knife again, not to allowing the monster any room to bring that heavy rifle to bear. This time, the "Soldier" snatched Morrison's wrist and reeled the human in, its ruined lips stretched in a snarl. A viscous knee to the gut sent the man sprawling to the floor, the air in Morrison's lungs escaping in a _whoosh_. Morrison coughed and tried to rise, but a swift kick from the creature kept him down. He cried out, sharp and wounded.

Gabriel didn't even think. His body just moved on autopilot. He rushed forward, crouching low and tackling the "Soldier's" middle. Man and monster went down in a tangle of limbs, the blood-slick floors causing them to slip down with a crash. 

Gabriel landed on top, but not for long. The "Soldier" bucked its hips sharply, flipping them over and pinning the human to the red-streaked floor. Gabriel tried to swap their positions again, but the creature clamped its legs against Gabriel's partially clad form, securely holding Gabriel's lower half down. Gabriel shouted wordlessly, trying to wriggle out of the hold. He didn't get far. The "Soldier's" left hand shot out, and grabbed Gabriel firmly by the throat.

Gabriel choked, adrenaline spiking sharply. The creature was close—too close. The sharp copper scent of blood all but flooded his senses, smothering him.

He clawed helplessly at the creature's arm, robbed of his breath. The creature was unyielding, an unmovable weight on top of Gabriel. Panic and lack of air caused his vision to gray quickly, and black spots started to dance in his vision. 

It was like he was drowning in static. Gabriel's struggling began to slow...

 _'No,'_ Gabriel thought, his mind going sharp and dim all at once, _'I can't die. I have to...home is...someone's waiting...'_

His head was hazy, but he could still feel warm droplets fall from above and splatter over his cheeks. Through his dimming vision, Gabriel could see the "Soldier's" ruined visage hovering over him. Blood dripped from its chin, falling onto Gabriel's face. It almost felt like tears.

"N-no," Gabriel gasped out, jerking in the "Soldier's" hold, "St...sto..."

From behind the monster, Gabriel's spotty vision was just barely able to make out Morrison rushing forward, knife again in hand.Steel slammed home into the "Soldier's" back, but the monster remained an immobile heavy weight on Gabriel. Morrison snarled, his face twisting with anger, as he yanked out the knife and stabbed the creature in the back again.

Again. Again. _Again._

It took a moment, but through the fog that had fallen over his mind, Gabriel suddenly realized that Morrison was yelling, screaming.

"—et go! Let go, you bastard!" Morrison shouted, his commands punctuated with the wet sucking sounds of the knife being pulled out of gore and the meaty thuds of it being plunged back in.

Morrison was starting to sound hysterical—panicked, "He said _stop_! Let go! You're going _to kill him! Let go!_ " 

The "Soldier's" hand flexed ever so slightly around Gabriel's throat, its fingertips brushing along the rapid pulse hidden under Gabriel's skin. Gabriel's mouth opened, air trickling into his lungs.

What?

Slowly, realization began to filter back into Gabriel's mind. Logic. Facts. The "Soldier's" hand was a collar around Gabriel's neck, true, but the creature wasn't pressing down—was not cutting off Gabriel's breath. It had simply pinned Gabriel down, holding him in place ruthlessly. It stared down at Gabriel, tilting its head to one side. Considering. In the dim, flickering light, the undead thing's features became too sharp, giving it a greedy, _hungry_ air.

Suddenly, the "Soldier" leaned in close, its torn lips brushing the shell of Gabriel's ear. Its deep not-voice was quiet and rough—ruined like its body.

_**One of these days someone is going to put an end to you.** _

Gabriel felt his breath catch again, a strange seesawing sensation curling in his gut. He didn't understand it, that feeling. He _couldn't_ understand. It made no sense. Why did he feel like—

And then, the lights went out, plunging them into complete darkness.

When the light blinked back on, it was sudden and startling in its brightness. It was so intense that Gabriel had to blink back spots in his vision. When he finally got his bearings again, he was greeted to an immaculate white hallway, the tiles gleaming and clean. The plaster on the walls was perfectly smooth, not a crack or speck of grime in sight. There was no rot, no mold. No blood.

The "Soldier" was simply... _gone_. It was just Morrison and Gabriel in a space that had been bleached clean, an empty whiteness so sterile that it made Gabriel feel ill. His head was spinning. That strange feeling in his stomach only intensified. What had happened? How was this possible? 

Gabriel felt like he was going mad.

A sharp _clatter_ made Gabriel look up. Morrison, his face covered in shock, had dropped his knife. Just like the room, the blade was spotless, the steel gleaming in the white light. Morrison also looked like he had been cleaned up. His clothes appeared freshly laundered, and his previously disheveled hair was neatly combed. 

Gabriel, on the other hand, still looked like he had been dragged through hell. He was sweaty and grimy, half-dried blood smeared all over his skin. The loaned hoodie he wore was grubby, blood-streaked, and was plastered uncomfortably against his skin. He was an anomaly in this sudden perfectly pristine place.

Gabriel stared all around, fear still thrumming in his veins despite the monster's disappearance. He felt on edge, agitation buzzing right beneath his skin. Something was wrong. Something was very, _very_ wrong. He didn't belong here. Subconsciously, he tried reaching for his letter ( _Jack's_ letter) to anchor himself, but caught himself.

That's right. He didn't have it anymore. His only tie to his past wasn't here. His hands began to shake. He was nauseous, and wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in his stomach. He had almost died. But he hadn't. He was alive. Gabriel should be happy, but instead, he felt so _lost_.

He wanted to scream.

Suddenly, gentle arms were wrapping around him, pulling him into a warm embrace.

Morrison.

"Gabe," Morrison breathed, faintly trembling himself, "Gabe, you're alright. Oh God, I thought—But you _didn't._ You're okay. You're...oh God, I almost thought..."

Gabriel wound his fingers into the fabric of Morrison's shirt, as if he could anchor himself into reality just by holding onto the other man. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a rough croak. Morrison pulled Gabriel closer, unmindful of the blood that still remained. They huddled close, both of them shivering together.

Behind them, the elevator pinged open. They ignored it for a little while longer, and clung together, just breathing.


	4. Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phantom feel of fingers

When the shaking eventually tapers off, Morrison and Gabriel separate from each other. In contrast to how tightly they clung to each other earlier, they gave each other a healthy space between them. Gabriel can't help but notice that Morrison's clothes have gone back to being filthy, streaked with blood and grime from holding Gabriel. A touch of guilt curled in Gabriel's stomach. He quickly squashed it.

“You're an idiot,” Gabriel muttered at his companion, “What where you thinking going after the 'Soldier' like that?”

“I was thinking I could be a distraction until the elevator came,” Morrison grumbled, his hands threshing through his silvered hair, “Then you could get away.”

“And what about you? Was I supposed to leave you behind?” Gabriel snapped, his voice like a whip, “What kind of bastard do you take me for? I'm not going to leave you to die—I _owe_ you.”

Morrison went uncomfortably still, his face void of emotions. His expression was too blank, too smooth not to be hiding something. Gabriel couldn't even been to guess at what was going on in Morrison's head—it was like staring at a wall.It unsettled Gabriel more than he would care to admit.

“You don't owe me anything, Gabriel,” Morrison said quietly, after a stretch of silence, “I didn't help you to get favors.”

“Then why do it?” Gabriel asked, honestly curious, “You got some martyr complex going on? Trying to be the perfect boy scout?”

There was a flinch before Morrison's face smoothed out again. 

“No,” Morrison said simply, not elaborating further. Gabriel felt his jaw clench in frustration.

“You need to stop risking your life for mine!” Gabriel growled, “You're important to me, and we're getting out of this shit hole together, got it?”

Morrison didn't reply, and instead pushed the elevator button to open the doors. Gabriel grumbled under his breath about stubborn idiots, but was willing to drop the subject for now. It wasn't that he was ungrateful for Morrison's help; quite the opposite really. Gabriel felt deeply indebted to the other man. Gabriel liked Morrison—cared for him.

And that was heart of it, wasn't it? Morrison was important to Gabriel, despite not knowing each other for long. Gabriel didn't even care if Morrison felt the same. Morrison's life meant something to Gabriel, and it pissed him off to see the white-haired man be so fucking _careless_.

The elevator doors pinged open, revealing an overly hygienic cab that smelled sharply of bleach. The shining silver mirrors embedded in the elevator walls were immaculate, streak free and untouched. Both Morrison's and Gabriel's reflections looked tired; deep shadows haunted their eyes, and their cheeks were gaunt. The too harsh lighting only highlighted their exhaustion. Gabriel wasn't sure what unsettled him more, the broken ruin and rot that made up their environment before, or the sterile heartlessness that surrounded them now.

Nevertheless, he wanted to more forward. There was nowhere else for them to go.

The pair boarded the elevator, standing in opposite corners. Gabriel quickly turned his back to the mirror, hating how worn out he looked and not wanting the reminder. 

“So what now?” Morrison asked as they both stared at the rows of elevator buttons. Gabriel sighed, the sound coming out frustrated.

“I know you just wanted to get the hell out of here,” Gabriel said, frowning faintly as he considered their options, “But—”

“I know. You've got unfinished business here.”

Gabriel nodded woodenly, feeling a bit  nauseous, “Yeah, my letter...”

Morrison shook his head, looking resigned, “Let me guess, if we don't grab it now, you'll probably just run back here, and try for it by yourself.”

Gabriel winced. He couldn't exactly argue with that; Morrison actually did have a point. Gabriel _needed_ that letter. It was a compulsion he couldn't shake. 

“You don't have to come with me. You could just leave,” Gabriel pointed out.

“I promised I'd help you get your letter back,” Morrison snorted, “And I'm not just going to leave you here to deal with all this bullshit alone.”

Then, Morrison turned back to the elevator buttons, and punched in a floor number. The elevator began to descend down.

“Where are we going?” Gabriel asked, confused.

“The map outside had a storage room labeled on one of the lower floors,” Morrison explained, crossing his arms, “There's a chance your letter—and your clothes—are there.”

Gabriel paused, thinking. Morrison had spent an extra amount of time poring over the map pinned outside of the elevator. Did he really pay attention to places where Gabriel's things would have ended up at?

Gabriel stared at the other man for a few minutes in disbelief, before laughing helplessly.

“You really are a boy scout, aren't you? Always prepared, and all that crap,” Gabriel snickered, teasing Morrison gently, “But...thanks. For helping.”

And suddenly, there it was again: that stiff stillness that locked up Morrison's whole form. His lips were pressed too tight in a thin, _thin_ line as if to prevent something from spilling out from them. Words probably. He stared at Gabriel, his focus pointed and piercing as if he was looking through Gabriel rather than at him. Again, Gabriel was caught with how intensely _blue_ Morrison's gaze was. Those eyes burned brightly, like the hottest part of a lit burner where the flame shone azure at the heart.

It reminded Gabriel of...something. It was just on the edge of his mind, so close he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. But before he could parse out the faint memory, the elevator dinged open. Morrison looked away from Gabriel first, ducking his head to avoid further eye contact.

“We're here,” Morrison intoned needlessly. Gabriel sighed and quickly exited the elevator. 

(Before the elevator doors closed behind them, Morrison glanced back at mirror over his shoulder, his eyes tracking something only he could see. He looked away quickly before Gabriel could urge him to hurry up.)

–

Despite the new cleanliness that had suddenly invaded the world, the building's corridors were just as maze like as before. Perhaps even more so. Each white and chrome hallway looked exactly alike, filled with the stinging scent of bleach. Morrison seemed to know where he was going, navigating the confusing halls with an easy confidence. After a few turns, he opened a door to reveal a large room filled with shelves and lockers.

“Bingo,” Morrison murmured as they entered the storage room, “Let's start looking.”

The pair split up, dividing the room in half, to search the lockers. Half of the lockers were labeled with faded names. The labels looked as if someone had come by and tried to scrub them off, but only got halfway through before abandoning the project. Sometimes Gabriel could pick out only a few letters, other times half a name would be legible. Feeling vaguely like he was intruding into someone's privacy, he began opening the compartments one by one.

Surprisingly, none of them were locked. Gabriel half expected something to happen whenever he opened a new locker. But there was nothing. The lockers were empty, and oddly pristine. Something about those neat lockers with their half scrubbed names made Gabriel uneasy. It was almost like someone tried to scour away the lives of the lockers' owners. He went through twenty-three compartments, each one exactly the same in their emptiness, before the pattern changed. Locker twenty-four was locked had a clearly marked name:

_Gabriel Reyes_

Gabriel felt something tug at his mind. Reyes...that sounded familiar. It clicked, the same way the name “Gabriel” had clicked before. Yes, logically he knew there were other Gabriels in the world. Hell, there was probably more than one Gabriel Reyes in the world. But something inside of him instinctively knew that this locker, _Gabriel Reyes'_ locker, was his. 

Shaken, Gabriel began spinning the combination lock. He didn't even think, just let muscle memory guide his fingers. The lock popped open. He took a deep breath, and reached inside.

He pulled out a pile of clothes and a pair of boots. He instantly recognized the knit beanie that sat on the top of the pile. These were the clothes he had been wearing before, when he first woken up in this strange place, the ones the “Soldier” had taken.

He wasted no time shaking out the fabric to find his letter. The folded up paper fluttered out, but Gabriel snatched it before it could fall to the ground. Gabriel knew without opening it that it was his letter. Just as before, the paper was folded tightly, folded and refolded as if he, the owner, often read and reread its contents before stowing it way in the secret pocket next to his heart. With trembling fingers, he carefully opened up the sheet and smoothed out the creases. As before, it read:

_Gabe,_

_Meet you at home._

— _Jack_

Unconsciously, Gabriel smiled at the simple words, something settling peacefully in his chest. His fingertips traced the words with gentle reverence, lingering briefly on the curve of the “J” in Jack's name. Idly he wondered who Jack was. What was their relationship? Family? Friends? They lived together, that was for certain. What was Jack like? 

Gabriel's brow furrowed as he stared at the words. Who was Jack? Where was home? Was this place—this strange abandoned place—his home? When Gabriel reached into his tattered memories, few answers bubbled to the surface. Jack was...important. That was a truth that settled easily into Gabriel's being, a fact that he knew so utterly there was no questioning it. Home was important too, but Jack...without Jack there was no home. 

What?

Desperate and wanting—God, he felt so lost, so fucking _lost_ —Gabriel reached deeper into the recesses of his mind, trying to use the letter in his hand as a—a clue or an _anchor._ There had to be something within the lines of that blue ink that would trigger a memory...

_There's white noise. Then, a flash of curved red—a small smile. And blue—bold brilliant_ _**blue** _ _. An empty blue sky stretching on forever and ever and ever._

“Gabe, did you find your things?” Morrison's voice broke through Gabriel's thoughts. Gabriel blinked, the faint memory bursting like a soap bubble. 

The vision was gone in an instant, and Gabriel didn't even notice. He didn't remember. Gabriel shook himself, trying to clear out the cobwebs, and walked over to where Morrison was.

“Yeah. I found everything,” Gabriel confirmed, “Though, I think we should keep looking around, see if we can find anything useful.”

Morrison grunted, the sound not quite agreement, but not negative either. He glanced over Gabriel's shoulder to read the letter still in Gabriel's hand.

“Huh, that's weird,” Morrison murmured, as his eyes roved over the words, “I thought it would be...longer.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Gabriel huffed, feeling oddly defensive.

“Nothing,” Morrison shrugged, trying for casual and failing, “It's just that...why not send a text or an email for something so short? Who uses actual notes anymore?”

“I don't have a phone,” Gabriel pointed out, “Neither do you, unless you're holding out on me. 'Cause it would be really great if you called in the cavalry.”

“Fair,” Morrison conceded, the corners of his mouth twitching up. 

“A phone would be useful,” Gabriel murmured to himself as he turned towards the rows of lockers Morrison had been searching, “Did you find any...thing...”

Gabriel's voice trailed off, as he stared at the lockers in front of them. They were numbered in the mid-seventies, and just like the lockers before, they were labeled with faded names. They shouldn't have been special, but locker seventy-six bore a weathered name:

_Jack_

The rest of the name was smudged out. Logically, Gabriel understood that “Jack” was a common name. There were millions of Jacks in the world. But...but...

“Were you able to open seventy-six?” Gabriel asked Morrison, feeling numb.

Morrison shrugged, “It was locked.”

Just like how Gabriel's locker was. In a daze, Gabriel tried twisting in the combination. The lock held fast. Gabriel tried again. Locked. Again. Locked.

Snarling in frustration, Gabriel slammed his fist into the small door. _Bang!_ Morrison jerked back, surprised at his companion's sudden aggression.

“You okay?” Morrison asked, trying for soothing and falling short. Gabriel snarled again, shoving his body away from the lockers before he was tempted to punch solid metal again.

“This is _Jack's_ locker,” Gabriel said, suddenly sure in his suspicion, “I found mine earlier. This one has to be Jack's. My Jack. The Jack who wrote my letter. I've got to get it open.”

There was a pause, and then Morrison asked:

“Why?”

Gabriel looked at the other man incredulously, “Are you serious? I just told you, this is Jack's locker. There's probably a clue to my past inside.”

“Are you sure?” Morrison asked, looking less than convinced, “I mean, Jack is a pretty common name.”

“I'm sure,” Gabriel growled, “There has to be something inside that can tell me...fuck, tell me _something_. I just need to get it fucking open!”

He slammed his palm against the lockers again, the metal rattling, but not opening. Morrison frowned, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

“Gabe?” Morrison began, his expression tight and unreadable, “You need to calm the fuck down. Right now.”

“Or what?” Gabriel sneered.

“Or you might end up breaking something,” Morrison pointed out coolly, “Either something inside Jack's locker, or yourself. Do you want that?”

“...No,” Gabriel admitted, “But I still need to get the damned thing open.”

Morrison sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, “Okay, yeah, I get that. Look, how about this—there's a bathroom next door. Why don't you get cleaned up, and I work on getting the locker popped open?”

“How are you going to do that?” Gabriel asked with an arched brow. 

“I've got all sorts of talents,” Morrison replied mysteriously, “If I can't get it open by the time you come back, we'll try the brute force method. So go get cleaned up and dressed, okay?”

“Okay,” Gabriel agreed, before a weak grin crossed his face, “You're just tired of looking at my dick, aren't you?”

Gabriel expected the other man to blush in embarrassment, but Morrison merely huffed, the sound almost fond. The edges of Morrison's mouth threatened to tilt upwards. Gabriel thinks that, in another life, Morrison would have smiled, maybe even laughed. Gabriel has no idea what Morrison's laughter would sound like, but he thinks it would be...nice. The faint upward tilt of Morrison's lips was already turning his scarred features soft, and Gabriel found his own skin heating instead.

“Just go, idiot,” Morrison ordered gently.

–

The bathroom, like the rest of the place, is clinically cold and soulless. It's bleached white and void of character, filled with identical sinks, stalls, and urinals. The trashcan is empty and clean, as if it has never been used.

Gabriel striped out of the grimy hoodie he wore, tossing the dirty fabric into one of the sinks, before grabbing a handful of paper towels. Cleaning himself off with just a sink and some towels is cumbersome, but Gabriel takes perverse pleasure tossing away the used paper into the trash. Finally, its not so pristine, not so scarily perfect. 

(He noticed a flash of rusty red smeared at his throat when he peeked at the mirror. He scrubbed viciously at his neck until it was gone. However, the phantom feel of fingers circling like a collar didn't fade so fast.)

As soon as he's clean, Gabriel slides into his clothes. When he's ready, something settles in his gut. Calmness, maybe. Then he makes the mistake of looking up at the mirror. He meets his own tired umber eyes in the glass, once again struck with how utterly exhausted he looks. But, unlike when he was in the elevator, he doesn't look away. 

The face that looks back at him is a stranger's. The dark scarred skin, sharp brown eyes, and trimmed goatee are all unfamiliar. There's history written all over his face—all scars are supposed to tell a story. His body is riddled with scars, with stories. It's maddening not to know them.

He pressed a hand to the glass and breathed out quietly.

“...Who are you?”

The person in the mirror smirked, and then began to melt into shadows.

“Fuck!” Gabriel yelped, badly startled. He tried jerking his hand away, but his skin stuck to the glass, holding him in place.

The growing shadows in the mirror quickly consumed Gabriel's reflection, before oozing outwards to devour the rest of the room. The darkness didn't stray confined in the glass; it slithered out of the mirror to start curling up Gabriel's arm. Countless red eyes snapped into existence, their gazes trained on the terrified human. A rumbling laugh began echo in his head, a dozen mocking mouths taunting him without voices.

Behind the mirror's silvered glass, the “Reaper” grinned at its prey.

_**Boo.** _

“Fuck—FUCK!” Gabriel shouted, yanking at his arm to no avail. Trapped. He was _trapped._ Fuck. Fucking damn it!

_**Too easy**_ _,_ the “Reaper” cooed, the grating imaginary sound of its not-voice making Gabriel want to rip out his eardrums. Gabriel snarled, his eyes lighting up with rage and defiance.

“Fuck off!” Gabriel yelled, slamming the fist of his free hand into the mirror. The glass spider webbed, fracturing the monster's appearance. The “Reaper” simply laughed harder, and more shadowy smoke worked its way through the cracks.

Then, the bathroom door slammed open, and Morrison burst inside, no doubt summoned by Gabriel's shouting. There was something shiny and metallic in his hand.

“Holy sh—Gabe!” he yelped, his eyes wide with shock. 

“Get out of here, Morrison!” Gabriel ordered, his heart thundering in his ears. Morrison ignored him, instead rushing over and grabbing Gabriel by the waist. He pulled, trying to dislodge Gabriel from the “Reaper's” grasp. The tendrils around Gabriel's wrist relaxed; both men ended up falling to the floor, surprised at how easily the monster let go. Behind the mirror, the “Reaper” licked its chops. Realization struck Gabriel like a lightning bolt. Gabriel no longer mattered—there was something else the creature wanted. It was as if every single one of the “Reaper's” eyes turned their gaze towards Morrison, and the creature's eyes unabashedly roved over Morrison's prone form.

Morrison stared back, seemingly frozen, his face turning an unhealthy ashy gray as he stared back at the monster. The mirror splintered further, as more smoke spewed from the cracks. Small tendrils started to creep towards Morrison.

_**You didn't think I'd forget about you,**_ the “Reaper” purred, as pure greed turned the monster's crimson orbs molten. Gabriel felt sick. 

No. _No._

“Leave, _leave_ , you've got to go!” Gabriel snarled, shaking Morrison. The white-haired man seemed to snap back to himself with a gasp, as Gabriel all but pushed him out of the bathroom.

The pair of them stumbled out into the hallway, finding the world changed yet again. The sterile blankness had given way to a perpetual twilight and curling icy mist. Gabriel shivered as the sudden cold seeped into him, the frigid air stabbing into his lungs like needles. Morrison leaned heavily on him, his breath coming out in frozen pants. He tried to run with Gabriel, but stumbled. When they both looked down, they saw it: the dark smoke wrapped loosely around Morrison's legs.

“Shit, shit,” Gabriel hissed, as he tried swiping at the tethers. His hand passed harmlessly through the smoke, but somehow the insubstantial bindings were enough to keep Morrison hobbled. Snarling in frustration when the smoke stayed in place, Gabriel tugged at Morrison, half yanking the white-haired man down the hall.

The smoke around Morrison's legs had a line that trailed behind him. It was a dragging rope—a leash. Slowly the line began to grow taut, as something began to gently pull Morrison in the opposite direction.

“You have to leave me,” Morrison growled as the pair stumbled forward.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Gabriel snapped, stubbornly pushing onward, “We're getting out of here together.”

Deep in Gabriel's mind, the logical part of him pointed out their low chances of success. They were slowed. Their weapons probably wouldn't do anything to a smoke monster. With the latest environment change, the layout of the hallway had been completely obscured in darkness. While it seemed like the walls were still in the same place, the darkness left everything feeling tight and claustrophobic. He could barely see five feet in front of his face, and the corridors had already been a labyrinth. Gabriel realized he had no idea if he could find the elevator anymore. They were running with no destination, just limping deeper and deeper into the shadows.

Behind them, the “Reaper” was laughing, delighted and mad, hunger and triumph clear in its crowing. It slid towards them, gliding forward on its shadows filled with eyes and teeth. The monster was unhurried in its approach—after all, it knew as well as they did that they had nowhere to go. 

Fuck that. _Fuck it._ Gabriel wasn't going to give up. Every time, every single _fucking_ time, he had thought it was hopeless, both he and Morrison had managed to escape. And, God damn it, it was Gabriel's turn to save Morrison's ass. It was clear that the “Reaper” wanted Morrison. Gabriel might not know _why_ the monster was so interested, and frankly, he didn't give a damn. But the “Reaper” wasn't going to get Morrison unless it was over Gabriel's cold dead body.

“Gabriel, you have to leave me behind,” Morrison tried again. Gabriel ignored him.

“We're getting out of here,” Gabriel babbled, trying to drown out the “Reaper's” snickering and Morrison's protests, “I'm not leaving you behind. I can't. I won't. We're going home. You and me. We're going home.”

Morrison's face twisted, anguish written all over his face.

“Damn it, Gabe!”

The dark tendril around Morrison's legs tightened, and suddenly the gentle tug backwards became a forceful _yank_. Morrison crashed to the floor as the “Reaper” reeled him in.

“ _Morrison!”_ Gabriel cried out, diving after the other man. He caught Morrison by the shirt, gripping the fabric tight. Instinctively, Morrison's hands came up around Gabriel's wrists to anchor himself. Even so, the shadows kept pulling, dragging Morrison away. Gabriel tried digging in his heels, but he was only getting dragged along too.

And the “Reaper” was laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing, as it pulled them towards itself, a fisherman with two catches on the line.

“Let go, Gabe!” Morrison demanded again.

“Fight, you stubborn bastard!” Gabriel shouted back, fury burning bright in his chest, “Don't just give up! Fight!”

Logically, Gabriel understood that Morrison was caught. There was no way to free him. And the “Reaper” was strong, easily reeling his prey in. There was nothing either Gabriel or Morrison could do.

Gabriel doesn't want to believe it—he refuses to give up. They've escaped before. They can escape now.

Morrison's hands flexed around Gabriel's wrists in tiny involuntary movements. Morrison stares at their joined hands, and the expression on his face is quietly thoughtful. When he looks at Gabriel, it's as if those blue eyes are staring off far away, looking through Gabriel rather than at him. When Morrison speaks, something in Gabriel can tell that these words are not addressed to him. They're for someone only Morrison can see.

“I thought that...” Morrison began, his voice rough and quiet, his far off eyes full of pain, “Maybe this was enough. To be here, for one last—But it's not. It's not enough.”

Then Morrison's grip goes slack around Gabriel's wrists. The shirt tears, and then Morrison is ripped out of Gabriel's grip. Darkness surges forward, and Morrison is swallowed by the “Reaper's” shadows. 

He is gone in an eye blink.

Gabriel is...he's screaming. His body is moving, but his mind is just a mess of white noise and confusion. He's disoriented, and it does him no favors.

Something (the “Reaper,” most likely) slams him into the ground before he can put his thoughts together—before he can do a goddamn thing. His head hits the floor with dizzying force.

He attempted to rise.

His skull gets slammed against the ground again. He thinks he hears a _crack_ and a _clatter_ , and then darkness begins to swallow his vision. Just as his eyes close, he comes to a realization. Morrison was right.

It's not _enough._


	5. Loyal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thousand sweet memories

Gabriel is dreaming.

He knows it too, is quite aware of the fact, but still, he cannot help but be pulled along with the dream as it unfolds around him. He's not in control. In his dream, he is not himself. He's someone else. _Something_ else. He feels oddly detached, alien thoughts and feelings crowding out his own persona. His heart feels like its no longer connected properly. His body feels different. Lighter somehow, and hollowed out. When he looks down at himself, he sees violently shifting shadows with too many mouths and teeth. He knows what that means, but his sleeping mind can't decipher it. He decides it is not important. He's more concerned about the sharp cold squeezing his heart, and the odd hunger haunting him. It's not for food, its for...he's not sure, exactly. But there's something lacking, a vital piece.

Luckily, he knows where to find what's missing.

He has Morrison. The man is caught and captured, a pet in a cage. Gabriel bound Morrison with thick ropes and tight knots, then hung his captive from the ceiling like a piece of meat. Morrison isn't struggling, per say, but his mouth is set in a firm line, and his eyes are burning bright with fury.

Gabriel finds that he wants to rip out those blue eyes, and place them on his tongue. He imagines that he would be able to taste summer skies full of sunshine if he did so. A clawed hand reaches up to just barely trace the crow's-feet at the corner of those blue eyes. The touch causes Morrison to shut his eyes tight, and turn his face way. Gabriel growls, annoyance and frustration making the sound ragged.

Gabriel is so cold and empty—it hurts. No...Empty is the wrong word he realizes. His insides are rotten and wrong, but he knows (he knows with the surety of a dreamer) that what Morrison has under his skin is—

It's golden warmth and brightness. It's a thousand sweet memories that he wishes he could remember and salvation he forgot he wanted. And oh does he _want_. He's greedy for it. He wants everything, but mostly he wants summer skies and a bright stubborn life pressed against his lips. He wants every. Last. Drop.

He'll crack Morrison wide open to get it. But not yet. Not _yet_. He has to be patient. There's a—a glitch. An anomaly in the system that needs to be taken care of. Patience, _patience_. Pain before pleasure, after all.

But, even so, greed burns inside of his rotting guts, and he can't leave without a little taste...

He pressed a mouth against Morrison's face, and grinned against Morrison's lips. Morrison gasped, startled, and Gabriel wriggled a tongue inside. Morrison jerked, a muffled sound escaping his throat. For a few moments, Gabriel luxuriates in the heat, the warmth, the too bright _life_ in his mouth, when suddenly, there was a sharp _spike_ of pain.

Gabriel pushed back, startled. Morrison flashed a bloody smile at him, spitting out a chunk of black-red gore. Morrison...bit him? There should be anger, but instead, Gabriel feels amused. He's far too pleased, and still so very, _very_ hungry.

Gabriel laughs, the sound not vibrating in the air properly. It echoes in his skull instead, a strange layered sound that doesn't sound even a bit human. Morrison flinches at the not-sound, but not a drop of fear crosses his features. Instead, he's resolute, his eyes an endless ocean of patient determination. Stubborn to the last, and glorious in his defiance.

Gabriel _wants_.

He leans in close to Morrison's neck, hunger causing him to pant. Morrison squirms in his bonds, crying out, but he can't break free. He's caught, nice and tight.

Gabriel breathes in, just a little, and his mouths (all the many dozens of them) open with scarlet tongues hanging out. He inches closer, hunger sharp in his veins.

Just a taste.

And then...he wakes.

–

There's darkness. And light.

Groaning, Gabriel slowly opened his eyes, his eyelashes sticking together for a moment. He touched his head gingerly as he sat up. There's a trace of a dream hanging on to the edges of his consciousness, but it fades quickly. He wants to chase it, but there are more pressing issues to worry about. For example: what happened to him before he passed out. 

He remembers the “Reaper” smashing his head in, and darkness taking him. But, he's not bleeding. There's no pain. That's impossible...he remembers the sound of bone cracking. He should have a concussion. Or he should be dead.

But instead, he's fine. Uninjured. It doesn't _feel_ like much time has past, but it's hard to tell. The world is still filled with umbra and misty fog. Except for a small radius around him.

He's sitting in a pool of light. 

It's...beautiful. The light around him is a soft pale gold, like early morning sunlight coming though curtained windows. It's nostalgic, for lack of a better word. It would have been peaceful, but...

His chest is tight. He doesn't know where he is, or what to do. He's alone. Morrison is gone—probably dead. Gabriel feels sick at the thought. Morrison was—Morrison _is_ someone important. A friend. The only person that mattered to Gabriel besides the mysterious Jack. 

But now, Gabriel is right back where he started. No, he's worse off.

Nothing. He has nothing. Nothing, nothing, _nothing..._

“Fuck,” Gabriel hissed, closing his eyes and trying to ward off the crushing weight that threatened to overwhelm him.

Stop. _Think_. There has to be something—

Something shiny glints in the light.

There's a knife laying on the edge of the circle of light, and right next to that, an open combination lock. Gabriel's eyes widen. The knife is Morrison's. Gabriel is certain of it. He snatches it up eagerly. It's _Morrison's_ , and Gabriel fully intends to give it back.

The combination lock might be stock, but it's familiar as well. This was the lock that was around Jack's locker. Thinking back. Gabriel realizes he remembered seeing it briefly in Morrison's hand when they were running from the “Reaper.”

Apparently, Morrison _was_ able to pop the lock open. Who knew the boy scout had it in him?

(Gabriel doesn't notice that the light is coming from a small metal canister sitting next to him. He ignores the strange little device. He doesn't recognize it. Not fully, even though there's something comforting about the light it emits. So he leaves it where it is.  He doesn't know it, but he's wasting an opportunity.)

Gabriel looks at the open lock. For a split second, Gabriel thinks about heading back to the storage room right away. Jack's locker is open, and Gabriel's curiosity is burning. But as soon as the desire manifests, it's engulfed by something more urgent.

Morrison.

Is he...is he dead? The “Reaper” took him—swallowed him up in shadows. It only took seconds. Gabriel needs to find Morrison. He owes it to the other man to at least find out what happened to him. And there's another part of Gabriel's mind that refuses to believe that Morrison is dead.

He _can't_ be dead. They're supposed to get out of this hell together.

Gabriel turns the knife over in his hands, admiring how the steel glints in the light. But also...there's a little splash of red, just a little smear, on the knife's edge.

At the light's edge, there are a few drops of blood, trailing off into the darkness. He stumbles forward, into the dusk filled hallway. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust, but he sees another small bloodstain. He leaves the safety of the light with little thought.

He walks a few feet forward, and finds another smudge of red on a wall. Then he finds another. And another. They're like little tags...breadcrumbs in a forest.

Gabriel dares himself to hope.

–

He follows the trail of blood. They're small amounts, little trickles, so he doubts he's following the “Soldier.” The blood-soaked creature dripped blood, letting it trail everywhere to paint its path red. This...this is different.

Eventually, he's lead to a tiny room that contained only a single swinging lamp suspended from the ceiling. And _Morrison_. Morrison is there, bound and unconscious. There was something oddly familiar about this scene, like a dream he forgot. The light was overly harsh, especially after being in the dark hallways, and it only served to highlight the ghastly hollows of Morrison's cheeks. Like the lamp, Morrison was strung up to the ceiling by his wrists. His whole body sagged in the bindings, his eyes closed. There was a trace of blood on his mouth, but not enough to cause concern. Morrison looked pale, with an almost grayish cast to his skin.

Vibrant red painted his throat.

“Fuck, Morrison!” Gabriel hissed, rushing over to cut the other man down. He hacked away at the ties. It took longer than he would like, but they're ordinary ropes, not the “Reaper's” preternatural shadows. Finally, Morrison's limp body slid bonelessly into Gabriel's arms. Morrison was breathing, shallowly, and his skin was clammy to the touch. He did not wake.

“Shit,” Gabriel cursed, laying his friend out onto the floor gently. Morrison's shirt was still torn at the collar, so Gabriel stripped him of it to get a better look at the wounds. 

Teeth marks. Dozens of them marched down one side of Morrison's throat in angry blotches. The marks led all the way down his chest, a handful of them curling around his ribs, and one prominent bite over the arch of a collarbone. They weren't deep, but they looked wrong...infected. The flesh around most of them was red and inflamed, and more than one of the bites bubbled with black ichor—a gift, no doubt, from the “Reaper.” With shaking hands, Gabriel pressed the torn fabric in his hands to the wounds. Morrison cried out at the touch, flinching away.

“Shhh, shh, it's me!” Gabriel tried to reassure him. Blue eyes fluttered open, but they were glassy and unfocused, fear and fever making them overly bright.

“R—Re—”

“The 'Reaper' isn't here,” Gabriel soothed, “It's just me. Let me help you.”

Morrison blinked up at him, blue eyes still hazy, “N-no...no don't need—”

“Damn it, Morrison!” Gabriel growled as the other man fell back into unconsciousness. Fuck. 

Maybe it was for the best though. Morrison would be in less pain if he was asleep; or at least Gabriel hoped so. Gabriel quickly bound up Morrison's wounds the best he could, then scooped the other man up with a small grunt, placing him in a fireman's carry. Morrison was tall—roughly as tall as Gabriel himself—with broad shoulders and a body packed with muscle. He was hardly light, but Gabriel was determined. He said they would get out together. He was going to keep that promise.

No one left behind.

Gabriel trudged back out into the hallway, his precious burden in tow. Now, to figure out where to go. Morrison needed help, a trained doctor, preferably. But Gabriel wasn't so naive as to believe he would find one now after not seeing a lick of life outside of himself, Morrison, and the monsters. If he couldn't get a doctor, then supplies were the next best thing.

The storage room.

Bingo. They hadn't searched all of it yet, and there had to be something they could use. Maybe there was something of use in Jack's locker. Now they just needed to get back there.

Of course, that was easier said than done. The world had...changed. Originally, it had been full of decay. Then perfect emptiness had taken over. And now, it was an eternal dusk. The hallways had always been a twisting mess, and while Morrison had been able to navigate it, Gabriel felt like a rat in a maze.

Gabriel started with retracing his steps, following the little tags of blood back to where he had been. Meanwhile, Morrison was completely limp and silent in Gabriel's hold. Morrison was so quiet that, for a moment, Gabriel thought Morrison had fucking _died._

But then there was a whisper in Gabriel's ear.

“Incoming,” Morrison warned, his voice thick and slurred, before going quiet again. Gabriel tensed, as the silence was suddenly filled with a dreadful—

_Drip. Drip._

“Shit!” Gabriel hissed under his breath, his heartbeat skyrocketing. The scent of copper just confirmed what the dripping alluded to. The “Soldier” was close by.

Fuck. _Fuck._ Gabriel couldn't run or fight, not while carrying Morrison, and there was no way in hell he was going to leave the other man to be taken by the “Soldier.” He had to hide.

“Damn it, where do I go?” Gabriel mumbled, glancing around. He quickly darted through a doorway into what looked like an office. He didn't bother looking around. Praying that he wasn't making a horrible mistake, he scurried into the closet with Morrison, and shut the door behind them. It was a tight fit, but Gabriel's biggest worry was the fact the closet door was slotted. On the plus side, it gave him a way to peek out into the main room, but if someone from the outside got too close, there was a chance they would be able to see the two men huddled inside. 

Gabriel just hoped that the shadows hid them well enough.

_'Please don't find us,'_ Gabriel prayed, his heart pounding double time in his chest, _'Just fucking go away.'_

Beside him, Morrison groaned, a soft almost inaudible noise. Gabriel's heart leaped to his throat. Panicking, he covered Morrison's mouth to muffle any other sounds. Gabriel tried evening out his own breathing, biting his lip to keep sound to a minimum.

That dreaded sound got closer.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

A few heartbeats later, the “Soldier” glided into the room, the demonic red of its visor lighting up the gloom. Gabriel bit his lip until he bled, and tucked Morrison closer to his side. So far the monster hadn't come near the closet. If they just kept quiet, maybe they had a fucking chance.

The “Soldier” prowled around the room, its rifle up as it scanned its surroundings. Besides the awful dripping that followed it, the monster made no sound, as if it was a ghost. It circled around the desk, its head turning back and forth. Then, surprisingly, it lowered its rifle. Its left hand reached over to disturb the papers strewn across on the desk.

For a few minutes it was as if the “Soldier” got distracted. It riffled through the junk littering the desk, carefully scanning some, while quickly discarding others. Eventually it let go of its rifle, strands of barbed wire allowing the weapon to dangle from its arm while freeing its right hand. The wire tightened cruelly around the “Soldier's” arm as the gun hung down to the floor, but it didn't appear to care. It was far too focused searching the desk, using both hands to sift through the debris that covered it. The creature seemed aimless in its search, picking up papers, putting them down, and picking them back up again. The creature fiddled with so many random trinkets: A broken clock. A Newton's cradle. A letter opener.

It was going though ordinary human motions, a complete disconnect with its previous actions. Although the motions might have seemed harmless, for Gabriel, nothing disguised the fact that the “Soldier” was a monster. He still remembered the feel of its hand around his throat. Gabriel knew that if it discovered them, they would be dead.

_'Go away, you bastard!'_ Gabriel mentally screamed at the creature, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

Still, the “Soldier” continued to search the desk. It picked up a small piece of paper—smaller than half a standard letter. Maybe a picture. In all honesty, Gabriel didn't care. But the “Soldier” stared at the paper in its hand for an inordinate stretch of time. It became scarily still, an inhuman static statue rather than anything living.

Gabriel held his breath, counting the seconds, and warily watching the monster. Slowly, ever so slowly, the “Soldier” moved. It set the paper it held down on the desk carefully, as if it were something precious.

And then, it burst into violent motion.


	6. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh blood and thick red-black viscera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, there is a sex scene in this chapter. With monsters. It's non-explicit (basically what you would see in an R-rated film) but it exists. If you'd like to skip, please let me know, and I'll write up a summary of this chapter.

The “Soldier” had no voice, not one that was made of true sound. But it was _shrieking,_ a strange soundless cacophony of shadowed whispers and rough static drilling into Gabriel's mind like nails on a chalkboard. Pure rage fulled the creature as it snatched up the letter opener on the desk. It stabbed through the paper it had been staring at and into the wood of the desk. 

Over and over again. Until the letter opener broke.

Gabriel, hidden away with Morrison, slowly let out a breath. They hadn't been caught. They were safe—for now.

The monster stared at the broken handle in its hand quietly. It dropped the broken tool, letting it clatter to the floor, and pushed away from the desk. For a second, a single solitary second, it appeared tired, almost human. 

Almost.

Then, the “Soldier” pulled the rifle back in its arms, and stood to attention. As soon as it finished straightening, all motion ceased. It didn't even twitch. It froze in place, like toy run out of batteries.

Gabriel shivered, chilled to the bone. That switch from murderous rage to frozen statue was uncanny—wrong. All that animation, and then _nothing?_ It was like watching something die. Despite the “Soldier's” stillness, Gabriel dared not come out of hiding. The “Soldier” could go from zero to sixty in no time flat.

Suddenly, the shadows began to lengthen and twist, gaining vigor when the “Soldier” had none. The darkness began to curl around the frozen monster, petting torn flesh. The shadows trickled into the punched out holes decorating the “Soldier's” torso, hooking in and pulling the meat open a little wider. Gabriel felt bile creep up to the back of his throat as fresh blood and thick red-black viscera slopped out of the “Soldier's” chest.

The “Soldier” didn't move, didn't care—didn't appear _capable_ of caring, even as the inky tendrils playing with its wounds shifted and solidified into the “Reaper's” claws. Slowly, the “Reaper” manifested behind the other monster, its body curling around the “Soldier” and looming in the darkness. 

Hidden away in the closet, Gabriel felt his and Morrison's chances of survival nose dive with the appearance of the second creature. His heart was beating so loud, he was sure the monsters could hear it. But they didn't appear to have noticed the humans, yet.

Yet.

The “Reaper's” inhuman soundless voice still sounded like the baying of wolves, the triumph of a predator capturing prey, but at this moment, with its shadows curled around the “Soldier,” the “Reaper” was a little quieter. It spoke no words, only crooning a scratchy garbled grumble into the “Soldier's” ear as its claws roamed over the frozen form of the other creature.

Gabriel stared, his gaze transfixed on the two monsters in morbid curiosity. It was only when the “Reaper” began pulling at the “Soldier's” ruined clothing that Gabriel realized he should look away. And yet...he couldn't avert his eyes. He wanted to—desperately so—but he couldn't look away, couldn't even blink.

(Don't blink.)

The “Soldier” wore a red leather outfit that Gabriel almost suspected did not start off that color. The “Reaper” opened the leather jacket carefully, undoing zippers, snaps, and buckles, even though the material was so damaged it probably could just be ripped open. The dark compression shirt underneath the jacket, sodden with blood, was unceremoniously pushed up to reveal dead white-gray skin streaked with gore and marred with gaping holes.

The “Soldier” didn't move. It stood as still as a statue, even as the “Reaper's” claws moved lower, opening up the “Soldier's” gore-soaked pants. Several of the “Reaper's” mouths opened, tongues flashing, as the pallid white flesh of the “Soldier's” hips was revealed.

The “Reaper” seemed almost _frustrated_ at its partner's inaction. It nuzzled at the “Soldier's” throat, petted along the exposed stomach, dug its claws into jutting hips, and traced the lines of ribs with half a dozen tongues. And yet the “Soldier” didn't move. It was just a doll, a broken one at that.

Just a doll. A broken battered doll; lifeless and soulless. Gabriel swallowed, feeling oddly sick at the thought. It bothered him more than he would care to admit.

Suddenly, Morrison let out a pained groan, and Gabriel's attention crashed back to reality. The “Reaper's” head jerked up at the sound, an uncountable number of eyes forming out of its shadows to glance in the closet's direction. 

Gabriel's heart leaped to his throat so fast he gagged on it.

Slowly, so slowly, he unsheathed Morrison's knife, angling his body to shield Morrison the best he could. Despite the too fast beat of his heart, Gabriel's hands were steady. They were fucked, he _knew_ that, but at the very least he would fight. 

Gabriel held the knife in a firm grip, his teeth bared in a soundless snarl. Their fates were balanced on the edge, and it was so, so close to tipping.

It was the “Soldier” that saved them.

Just as the “Reaper” began to untangle itself from the other monster, the “Soldier” suddenly moved, striking like a cobra. It snatched the “Reaper's” arm, pulling insistently. The “Reaper's” eyes turned towards the “Soldier,” the soft sounds from the closet no longer a concern. 

The shadowy “Reaper” was all but purring, its body curling back towards the other monster, everything else seemingly forgotten. The “Soldier” murmured wordlessly back, and tugged at the “Reaper's” amorphous form until a wide scarlet mouth was revealed, embedded in the “Reaper's” shadows. The “Soldier” prodded at the teeth, demanding without words, until jaws reluctantly opened. A tongue, marred by a missing chunk of flesh, slipped out, curling around the “Soldier's” fingers.

Gabriel's breath caught. Morrison's had bitten the “Reaper,” the crazy bastard. He could fucking _see_ it, the image of Morrison spitting out a little lump of meat, his blue eyes defiant. He had no idea how it was possible, but Morrison's triumphant little smirk was burned in his brain, making Gabriel grin in turn.

(How did Gabriel know about any of that?)

The “Soldier” examined the ragged edges of the bite, tilting its head in consideration. After a moment, the “Soldier” tugged off a small metal canister off a strap on its arm, and placed it on the floor. A strange hum filled the air, and a circle of sickly yellow light sprung into existence.

_**Heal up here.**_

The “Soldier's” quiet not-voice was a quiet shock, as were its words. To Gabriel's astonishment, the ragged bite on the “Reaper's” tongue smoothed over, flesh filling in, until the muscle was whole again. It was like magic. The process was quick, and oddly familiar.

Gabriel felt a jolt of something go down his spine. Surprise? Fear? He's not sure. But he does know that he _needs_ those little metal canisters, or else Morrison was going to die right next to him.

It's strange, though. While both monsters stand in the pale yellow light, it's only the “Reaper's” wounds that close up. The “Soldier” remains as battered as ever, blood continuously _drip-dripping_ to the floor. Gabriel doesn't care about the inconsistency. Those canisters are Morrison's best bet right now.

Eventually the light winks out of existence. For a moment, the monsters simply stand in the dark room, staring each other down. Then the “Reaper's” shadows shot out, twining around the “Soldier's” limbs and _pulling_. Both creatures tumbled to the ground with a _thump,_ rolling around and growling at each other.

The “Reaper” ended up pinned beneath the other creature. Gabriel thought the monsters were fighting, until leather slipped down farther on the “Soldier's” gore-streaked thighs, and shadows, teeth, and far too many eyes slotted into place, a joining of flesh. There was a pause, and a moment of savoring the merging of bodies. The “Reaper” grinned, its many mouths opening to catch the blood that dripped down. The “Soldier,” sitting atop a mass of nightmarish darkness, tipped its head back, its ruined lips parted in a sigh. 

And then, they _moved._

It was intimate,but not soft in the slightest. The “Reaper's” movements were all rough, aggressive—desperate in a way. It fucked up into its partner harshly with greedy snaps of its hips, its mouths open and drooling. The “Soldier” pushed back just as furiously, its hands gripping tight at the ladder of the “Reaper's” exposed rib cage. It was brutal and harsh, both creatures just chasing the end. The pair twisted suddenly, flipping the tangled mass of shadows and bloody flesh over and putting the “Reaper” on top. All of the “Reaper's” mouths twisted up into crazed grins, and its claws and shadows raked all over the “Soldier's” bucking form possessively.

Neither creature moaned or gasped—or made any other sound Gabriel would have expected during a coupling. The “Reaper” was oddly silent, its noiselessness in stark contrast to its almost violent movements. Meanwhile, the “Soldier's” cries were disorienting, pitched almost too low for human ears. The noise caused Gabriel's teeth to hum and the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle in discomfort. As the creatures movements grew more frenzied, that inhuman noise grew and grew and _grew_ , the sound buzzing in the marrow of Gabriel's bones, until—

_Snap!_ The “Soldier's” voice cut off suddenly, like something broke. Instantly, the “Reaper” paused, its head tilting closer to the other creature.

The “Soldier” lay on the ground, quiet and motionless, its limbs askew. The “Reaper” pulled away slightly, filling the air with a faint growl as it nudged its partner. The “Soldier” didn't move.

It was frozen again. _Dead_ again.

_This_ is the moment where Gabriel truly feels like a voyeur. Not before, when the monsters were screwing each other into the ground, but now, with the “Reaper” hunched over the “Soldier's” immobile corpse. The shadowy creature just stared at the body beneath it, its head cocked to one side. Its claws traced carefully over its partner's still features, searching. After another minute, the “Reaper” withdrew, moving a few paces away from the other creature, though a few stubborn curls of shadow remained entangled with the “Soldier's” limbs. The “Reaper” began to growl, the sound beastly and dark, as it prodded the other creature. Still the “Soldier” remained motionless, even as the “Reaper's” growl steadily grew in volume.

Minutes, maybe even hours, passed. The “Soldier” didn't stir. Eventually, the “Reaper” snarled, digging its claws into the nearby desk furiously. Then it ripped at the rest of the furniture and the walls, venting its rage with snarls and violence. 

The “Soldier” didn't move.

The “Reaper” punched one last hole into the drywall, before finally stopping. It almost looked defeated, its head bowed, with every single burning red eye shut tight. The monster seemed to crumple inward. Then, its form grew hazy, like a mirage. A breath later, the shadowy figure dissolved. A few trailing shadows lingered for a second longer before dissipating. It was as if the “Reaper” had never been there in the first place. 

And then the room was silent, like a grave.

–

Time trickled past, without anything changing.

Gabriel waited a few minutes more before opening the closet, just a crack. Taking a deep breath, he crept out, quietly shifting towards the “Soldier's” prone form. The “Soldier” was out like a light, the “Reaper” was no where to be seen, and Gabriel _needed_ those metal canisters, the ones that healed miraculously. 

Even as Gabriel scooted closer, the “Soldier' didn't stir. Slowly, _carefully_ the human inched his fingers towards the canisters strapped to monster's bicep. He wriggled one out, and quickly hurried back to the closet. 

Morrison looked...terrible. He was sickly pale, almost grayish, and the infected bites that littered his skin were starting to ooze discolored puss and blood through the makeshift bandages. His breathing was shallower, and when Gabriel checked for a pulse, what he found was faint. As much as Gabriel wanted to just collect Morrison and get the hell out of there, he realized that moving Morrison and waiting to treat him was just as much of a risk as just staying here.

Gabriel decided to take a chance, praying it was the right one. He placed the canister next to Morrison, allowing the golden light to spring into existence. At first, he thought nothing had happened, but then, slowly, steadily, the infection on Morrison's skin began to recede, and the wounds started to close.

“Thank God,” Gabriel sighed, his shoulders slumping in relief. Based off the rate of healing, he guessed it would take a few minutes for Morrison to be fully healed up. He just had to be patient.

That should have been it, but in the boredom of waiting, a flash of color on the desk distracted Gabriel. Curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself reaching for it.

It was a photograph, likely the one the “Soldier” had been poring over earlier based off the stabs and slashes that marred half the picture. Gabriel cradled the paper carefully, but the right half was so damaged it was almost disintegrating in his hands. The photo featured two people. The figure on the right hand side had been obliterated by the “Soldier's” fury, but the one on the left—

Serious brown eyes and a mouth framed by a well trimmed beard greeted Gabriel. He sucked in a startled breath, recognizing the man in the picture as the man he had seen in the mirror. This was a picture of him...him and—

Gabriel flipped the photograph over. There was text on the back. While a good portion of the inscription was damaged, what remained eligible made Gabriel's brain grind to a halt.

_...Morrison and Gabriel Reyes, OW HQ, Zurich_


	7. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hollow vessel

Gabriel stared at the torn up photo and felt sick. Morrison had been lying this whole fucking time. Or at least, he hadn't told Gabriel _shit._

Morrison _knew_ him. Their meeting hadn't been random. They weren't strangers. The monsters too. They were after Gabriel and Morrison for a reason. They had to be with how violently the “Soldier” had ripped into the photograph.

Questions that had built up over time, like plaque in blood vessels, sprung up, gushing messily in Gabriel's mind.

Who was Gabriel? Who was Morrison? Why was Morrison helping Gabriel? Why were they in a photo together? How did they know each other? Did Morrison know Jack? Who was Jack? What the hell were those monsters? Where were they?

There was a soft groan from behind Gabriel, causing him to whirl around in response. Morrison. Morrison was waking up.

“Gabe?” Morrison murmured, sounding tired and confused. Gabriel wanted to laugh. If anyone was allowed to be tired and confused, it was Gabriel.

“Morrison,” Gabriel greeted stiffly, as the other man got to his feet, “Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

Morrison blinked slowly, his brow furrowed, “What?”

Wordlessly, Gabriel shoved the torn photograph at Morrison. Instantly, the blood drained from Morrison's face.

“Gabe, this isn't—”

Something exploded in Gabriel.

“Don't even start, you fucking bastard!” Gabriel roared, betrayal simmering under his skin, “You _fucking liar!”_

“Gabriel—”

Gabriel didn't want to hear it. Whatever was going to come out of Morrison's mouth—lies all of it. Gabriel was sick of it, of not knowing anything. He didn't want to be lead around the nose.

“I can't believe you didn't tell me!” Gabriel shouted over Morrison, fury bubbling up bright in his gut, “You bastard, I fucking trusted y—”

“Gabe, look out!” Morrison shouted, diving tackling Gabriel to the ground just as the sharp rapport of gunfire screamed overhead.

Shit. The “Soldier.” How the hell did he forget about the “Soldier”?

“Run, Gabe!” Morrison shouted as he charged at the monster barehanded.

“You fucking idiot!” Gabriel snarled, rage giving way to fear, maddening mind-numbing _fear._ That self-sacrificing moron was going to—

Oh God, oh fuck...Morrison didn't have a weapon. Gabriel had it—he had Morrison's knife. He fumbled for it, suddenly feeling clumsy.

Morrison drew in close to the “Soldier” making it hard for the monster to bring its rifle to bear. He slapped the “Soldier's” gun to one side, causing the next barrage of bullets to go wide. He jabbed at the creature's wounded torso with his fists, the flurry of his punches swift and precise. The “Soldier” grunted at the impacts, and attempted to block Morrison's next attack with the stock of the rifle.

Morrison was _fast_. Gabriel stared, awe rooting him to the spot, as Morrison kept up with the attack, his red-gloved fists blurring in the air. But the “Soldier” was fast as well, keeping up with its human opponent easily, despite being hampered by its full hands.

The fight had only been going on for a few seconds, a minute at most, as Gabriel stared dumbstruck, but ultimately, the “Soldier” grew bored with being put on the defense. It dropped the gun, letting the weapon hang from its arm from the barbed wire, as it stood against Morrison, one-on-one. Morrison bared his teeth at the monster, looking confident in his chances with close quarters combat. For a second, Gabriel was absolutely _sure_ that Morrison was going to be alright.

Then, in a blink of an eye, the “Soldier's” hands shot out, wrapped a length of barbed wire around Morrison's throat, and _pulled._

“Fuck, Morrison!” Gabriel screamed.

_'Move, move,_ _**move** _ _!'_

Gabriel's body sprung into motion, his mind still struggling to catch up. He grabbed the “Soldier” by the hair, yanked its head back, and slit its fucking throat deep enough he could feel steel scrape bone. First the monster's body locked up, then went limp, causing Gabriel to drop it. Both the “Soldier” and Morrison collapsed to the ground, motionless.

Gabriel took a step back, dropping the knife to the ground in shock.

' _Did I kill it?'_

Gabriel stared wide eyed at the “Soldier's” slumped form, the wide slash to its throat hanging open like a grinning maw. It was still, a broken doll once more. Beneath the the dead creature, Morrison...

“Oh fuck, _Morrison!_ ” Gabriel yelled, shoving the monster off his friend. He turned Morrison over with trembling fingers, hoping, and praying...

' _Please oh fuck, please. Please, please, please no no nonono_ _ **no!'**_

Blue eyes stared up at Gabriel, wide and glassy, looking at nothing.

–

Gabriel has to ask himself: What does he believe in?

God?

Fairness?

Justice?

Hope?

Or maybe, he just believes in what he can see. What he can feel.

Right now, he doesn't feel much of anything. Just a void, a yawning gap in his chest. He's scooped out and empty, a hollow vessel. He's crying. He can feel the tears on his face, but they're distant, inconsequential things. Just his body going though the motions his mind is too numb to feel. The world around him has already faded into white static. Nothing really matters, except for...

His hands pull Morrison (Morrison's _corpse_ ) into his arms, cradling the limp form, and rocking back and forth unconsciously. Morrison's eyes are still open, staring endlessly. Gabriel should close them. He should let Morrison rest. But that endless blue—it's easier to stare at that than the red ruin of Morrison's throat.

A thought bubbles up in Gabriel's mind, poisoning it. Oh God, the last thing he had said to Morrison was...It was just Gabriel's anger lashing out. It didn't...Gabriel's anger didn't mean anything, not really. Looking back, it didn't matter at all. And then—the “Soldier” had been so quick. Like a lightning strike. It was—Oh God, the last thing Morrison had heard from Gabriel was...it was...

Morrison died thinking that Gabriel hated him.

Gabriel felt sick; he was completely disgusted with himself. He tried pushing the thoughts away, but with Morrison's staring eyes cutting through Gabriel, it just was too fucking _much_.

God, the weight in his arms was so _heavy_.

“What do I do?” Gabriel asked helplessly, the words coming out tangled and knotted as he pushed them past the lump in his throat, “What do I do? Fuck, Morrison, _what do I do?!_ ”

Morrison didn't answer. He just stared and stared and _stared_ —

_(An endless blue sky.)_

Time passes. Gabriel doesn't care. He's saying something—babbling, really. Questions and pleading...it's a mess of words, all tangled up. He talks for ages, but no one answers.

–

Gabriel opens his too heavy eyes with a groan. He must have passed out. It's the only explanation, because he doesn't remember closing them. Everything is a blur.

He's lying on the floor of the office, but everything is different. The broken furniture, blood on the floor, the gouges on the wall?

Gone all of it. The world is pristine, and everything is gleaming. It's unreal, something that doesn't truly exist in reality. It's too sterile and stifling, and the scent of bleach threatens to drown Gabriel.

Morrison is nowhere to be found.

“No,” the denial tumbles out of his numb lips as his body pulls itself clumsily up. Gabriel searches the room, his body on autopilot.

Nothing. There's nothing here. Gabriel is alone, and the world is perfectly desolate and soulless.

Gabriel feels the panic start edging its way into his mind. He wants to scream. It's too much. Too much too much _too much!_

Unconsciously, he reaches for his letter, Jack's letter. He pulls it out, and reads it over.The handwriting is neat, orderly, when all the rest of Gabriel's world is chaos and confusion. He lets the familiar words soothe him, anchor him.

_Gabe,_

_See you at home._

— _Jack_

Gabriel breathes.

He...he can't do anything about Morrison. That's the truth. He doesn't want to accept that, but he _has_ to if he wants to move forward. Gabriel closed his eyes, and rubbed at them with the heel of his hand. He doesn't care that he's smearing blood all over his face. He can't get the image of Morrison's staring eyes out of his head, but...but...

There's _nothing_ he can do about Morrison.

Gabriel's hands clench around his letter. Jack's letter. Gabriel—Gabriel can do something about Jack. He knew that Morrison was able to pop open Jack's locker in the storage room. Gabriel could go back there, check out Jack's locker, see if there's anything of value. Maybe there were supplies, or hints to Gabriel's past. Maybe, he would be able to find a way home.

( _“Home, huh,” Morrison had murmured in what seemed a lifetime ago. Gabriel could still remember the faint tremor that had shaken the other man, and the rawness on Morrison's face when he thought of_ _ **home.**_

_They had been the same, Gabriel and Morrison. Two old souls, just looking to go home._ )

Gabriel strengthened his resolve. Get to the locker. It's...it's a way forward. And Gabriel has to move forward. He can't do anything else.

–

It's surprisingly easy to trace his steps back to the storage room. Gabriel heads straight to the seventy-sixth locker (Jack's locker) and flings it open. He's not sure what he expected to find inside. He hopes it's something useful. If it's just a dead end, Gabriel isn't sure what he would do.

He reached a hand inside and drew out two items: a copy of the map that had been pasted outside of the elevator and a keycard with a room number printed on it. It's more than he could have ever hoped for.

Unlike the first time when he gave the map a quick glance, Gabriel studies this copy carefully. According to the map, there are living quarters that correspond to the keycard, and based on the logos on the card _and_ the map, that room is somewhere on OW HQ. Whatever that stands for.

OW HQ, Zurich. That's...that's here, he assumes. This place. It's also the same as what was scribbled on the back of that damaged photograph he had found. The photograph of Gabriel and _Morrison._

Gabriel tried mulling over the scraps of information he had. There were so many pieces missing. So many things he did not know. He had so many questions. It hurt. It hurt so fucking much, and he didn't know where to start.

Gabriel twirled the keycard in his hand over and over between his fingers. He had a location, a key, and (assuming that his letter counted) a standing invitation. Gabriel could go...home. Home to Jack. Just like he wanted.

But Gabriel still had questions. How did he and Morrison know each other? Why were the monsters after them? What was this place? Who was Gabriel? Who was Jack?

Jack. Jack was the key. Jack would know the answers to all of Gabriel's questions.

Gabriel checked the map again. 456B—that was the room number printed on the keycard, and the corresponding room was located a few floors down from where Gabriel was now. He headed towards the elevator, already practicing in his head what he would ask Jack.

Jack had all the answers, Gabriel was _certain_ of it.

–

The first thing that Gabriel noticed when he stepped off the elevator was the _light_.

He stood in a corridor lined with windows to one side. The light from the setting sun was streaming through the glass, dyeing everything a soft rosy gold. Even the dust motes in the air were caught in the glimmering light, and were transformed into something beautiful and precious. This floor was nothing like the sterile emptiness of before. It's warm—inviting.

He passed by a common room kitchen, which had mismatched chairs around a few tables. A handful of mugs sat in the sink, unwashed. If Gabriel closes his eyes, he can imagine it filled with people, chatting, living, loving. It's like a scene from a picture book, a perfect image of halcyon days.

Gabriel, in his sweaty blood-soaked clothing, is a poor fit here.

Turning away from the kitchen, he lurches forward towards his destination, stumbling like a zombie. The rooms past the kitchen are all shut tight and labeled.

...454B

...455B

... _456B_

For a moment, Gabriel just stared at the door. He has to lick his lips, trying to moisten a dry mouth. He's so _close_ to everything. His home. Jack. All the answers he needs. It should make him feel...accomplished? Victorious?

Gabriel just feels tired and hollow. He can still feel the weight of Morrison's body in his arms. He shakes out his arms, trying to banish the ache. He can only move forward.

He taps Jack's keycard against the scanner embedded on the door. The door beeps, and the light flickers from red to green, allowing Gabriel to push his way inside.

He walks into a sun drenched living room. There's a small kitchenette attached to one side, and a closed door on the other. The windows are all open letting in a warm breeze and the scent of cut grass in. There are a few plants on the windowsill, but otherwise it's devoid of life. Gabriel tries not to let that bother him.

“Jack?” he called out, hoping...praying.

There's a noise from behind the closed door—the bedroom. Gabriel doesn't even notice when he walks himself over to the door and opens it. His heart is pounding too loud in his ears.

The room is surprisingly dark. He has to squint as his eyes adjust. He can make out the faint outline of a bed and a nightstand. To the left are a set of drawers and the glint of a mirror.

“Jack?” he called again. Silence. And then...

_**Pain.** _ _Sudden, tearing,_ _**pain!** _

Gabriel tries to gasp, but blood bubbles up from his mouth instead. Dark claws are buried in his guts so deep that he swears he can feel them against his spine. He glances up, and sees a shadow and dozens of burning eyes oozing out of the mirror.

The “Reaper,” unlike every other time Gabriel has encounter the creature, is not laughing. There is no triumphant howling, nor are there dozens of sharp-toothed grins. Instead, those crimson eyes glare silently down at Gabriel, hot hatred glowing in every orb.

_'Oh,'_ Gabriel thought numbly, _'That's right. I killed the “Soldier”...'_

The “Reaper” yanks its claws out of Gabriel's stomach, and instantly the human presses his hands (uselessly) against the wound. Blood and a dark tar like substance runs like a river from the gaping hole.

Gabriel stares up at the “Reaper” again, feeling helpless. This...this will be a slow death, he thinks, and the “Reaper” will watch. And make no mistake, the “Reaper” is _watching_ , red eyes expectant underneath all that hatred.

–

Perhaps, if Gabriel had been a little more mindful, he would have given more thought to the environment. The world around him seemed to constantly shift and change, casting off old appearances like a snake shedding skin. This strange place, OW HQ, Zurich— _That_ is what should have been in forefront of Gabriel's mind, and the first of his questions.

Then again, perhaps he could be forgiven for overlooking such a “minor” detail. There's so much already on his mind. Why should he wonder about the small things, like building layouts and shifting atmosphere?

Gabriel hasn't even noticed that despite the passage of time, he has not once felt hungry.

But he should have gotten curious when he looked at the map. Why would there be residential housing in the basement levels? How the hell did basement levels have huge windows? The ground floor, with its exit to the street, was several floors above him, and all he was doing was delving deeper.

(Deeper into Wonderland? Into hell?)

It doesn't matter now.

Gabriel dropped to his knees in front of the “Reaper,” his hands futilely trying to hold his innards in as the monster stared back impassively. It was waiting for something. Something beyond just Gabriel's slow death.

“What...the fuck...do you want?” Gabriel gasped out as his vision began to gray at then edges.

The “Reaper” jerked back, as if surprised by Gabriel's question. Then, slowly, it leaned forward, crowding into Gabriel's space, so close they were sharing breaths.

The creature's voice was quiet, the creep of night over broken buildings and the deathly silence of a lost battleground.

_**This is how it should have been.** _

And then Gabriel stumbles into memory.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My BFF called the fight this chapter the “Great Jack Off.” Then, when the fight ended, amended it to the “Great Jack Offing.” My roommate is a jerk, but I'm the one who wrote the scene, so I'm pretty terrible too.


	8. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes like postcards

It starts with an old memory:

Gabriel is young—early twenties—and the world is falling apart. But...all is not lost. Humanity has a chance, a slim risky chance, but when killer tin cans are threatening to overrun everything, even the craziest of ideas are on the table.

Super-soldiers. It's a crackpot of an idea, the stuff of comic books and bad sci-fi movies. Still, Gabriel (by choice) is being shot up with drugs that have names so long he can't pronounce them, let alone bother trying to remember them.

He remembers the _pain_ though. During one round of shots, they inject acid into his veins and it burns and burns...until it doesn't. He blacks out.

For a little bit, he's—somewhere else. His mind wraps his sense of being up and drags it down, down, _down._ It builds a little world, just for him. A golden city, a place so peaceful, that the pain can't reach him.

But it's...lonely there. He's the only one in that beautiful place.

When he wakes up again, there's an anguished blue-eyed face haloed by blond hair leaning over him. It's a beautiful sight. For a second, Gabriel thinks an angel has come by to pick his soul up. But then his brain kicks back online before that dumb thought can grow any further.

Gabriel's voice is as dry as the desert, but he still manages to croak out, “M...Morri...”

“Fuck, Reyes,” a twenty-something year old Morrison swore, his whole body slumping, “Fuck...that last injection. They—fuck, _I_ thought you died!”

Gabriel smiles weakly at his friend, trying to think of some funny quip or joke to ease the tension on Morrison's face. But he's too tired. He settles for patting Morrison lightly on the shoulder, but his limbs are made of lead and helium simultaneously, and he brushes Morrison's lip and chin instead. The silly corn-fed country boy turns bright red, the freckles across his cheeks standing out in sharp relief.

Gabriel goes to sleep thinking that Morrison would probably like the golden city in Gabriel's dreams if there were a few more trees.

–

The next memory is a bit darker:

Gabriel is in the ruins of a bombed out town with a small group of soldiers, and the dreams of the golden city in his mind are far, far away. He doesn't even remember that he made such a place. The press of grim reality is forefront in his mind, and he has no time to think of imaginary buildings.

There are people wounded. Morrison is yelling nearby. He needs a suture kit, bandages, and would someone fucking get some biotic fields out here now, God _fucking_ damn it! Where's the doctor? There is none, just Morrison, and his incomplete training as a field medic.

Morrison does his best, despite the lack of resources. He curses himself blue the whole time, but somehow, the whole team is taken care of. But, Morrison is run ragged in the process. His face is stuck in a tight, pinched expression the entire time as he tries desperately to stretch their minimal supplies.

In another life, Morrison would have made a fine doctor. Maybe even in this life, if Morrison chose that path after the omnics stopped trying to kill everyone. Gabriel could see it: Morrison dressed in a neat white coat, stethoscope wrapped around his neck, and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

That daydream is shattered when their camp gets ambushed by a group of Bastions. In the subsequent fight, Morrison and Gabriel stand back to back, firing shot after shot, until there's nothing but scrap. Morrison proves he's a soldier first, healer second.

Even so, the image of that other life is planted in Gabriel's mind. Gabriel thinks idly, that if he ever does build that other life, he's going to make sure that it has a fully stocked hospital for Morrison.

–

The memory that follows is a bit lighter:

Gabriel and Morrison are sitting together on a couch, hip to hip, eating a quick dinner in front of the television. Morrison is seemingly enraptured with the show. He's leaning over, the light of the screen catching all the angles of his face.

Gabriel however is far more interested in the curve of Morrison's jaw, the blue of his eyes, and the upwards twist of his lips. Morrison looks...happy. At peace. The faint lines of stress that are sketched out at the corner of his eyes and at the edge of his mouth have been smoothed out, and he looks years younger.

Finally sensing Gabriel's regard, Morrison's head turned, one eyebrow cocked upwards in a silent question. Gabriel turned away, embarrassed.

“Something wrong, Gabe?” Morrison asked.

“I'm fine,” Gabriel was quick to reassure him, “It's just that...it's been awhile, you know? Since we've been able to do this.”

Morrison smiled, and hummed in agreement.

“I'm glad we got some free time,” Morrison confessed, “And I'm glad we're at HQ...at home.”

Home. Gabriel liked the sound of that. Forget every imaginary kingdom or dreamworld he's ever created. Being home with Morrison was...perfect.

Gabriel leaned against the other man, his whole body relaxing into Morrison's warmth, “I'm glad we're home too, Jack.”

–

Jack. Jack Morrison.

Gabriel's eyes snapped open as he gasped for breath. Morrison was Jack. His memories were finally coming back. No, that wasn't quite right. His memories had always been there. He had pushed them away, unable to handle them or reality anymore. His mind had obliged, sending Gabriel to an imaginary ruin of his home, and locking the memories away. He didn't _want_ his memories. They were cure and poison both, and he hadn't wanted them anymore, not after...

Not after...

_(White noise and static. Red lips with a faint smile. An empty blue sky.)_

No, no, _no!_ He didn't want them! He didn't want—

The dam broke.

–

There's a quick series of flashes, scenes like postcards blinking into existence in his mind before blinking out, stored and cataloged, burned forever in his brain.

An awards ceremony—medals being pinned to both his and Jack's chests.

The rumbling cadence of Jack's voice in his ear.

A smile that touched crinkled blue eyes.

Jack's desk, littered with papers and pictures.

A coffee cup on Gabriel's own desk, and a photograph of Jack on his computer screen.

_Then:_

Lines of coffins.

The recoil of his guns when they fire.

Jack's hair turning white faster and faster while lines drew themselves across his face.

Newspapers with blaring headlines.

The rasp of Jack's voice as he yelled himself hoarse.

An explosion, and the weight of broken concrete pinning his body down.

–

Within the flashes, a story that Gabriel knows well unfolds:

The weight of the world sits heavily on Jack's shoulders. It's a heavy burden, and Gabriel hates to watch Jack carry it, so he tries to help lessen the load. Gabriel takes care of the shit that Jack shouldn't dirty his hands with. Gabriel is perfectly content hiding in the shadows while Jack stands in the light. Prefers it, even. It works...for awhile. But then, Jack pushes Gabriel away.

Gabriel pushes too. He's a secretive bastard with his own weight to carry, and he won't let Morrison help. They push push _push_ , but there's also a _pull_ , like magnets. Gabriel doesn't know which energy is stronger, their pushing or their pulling, but in the end it doesn't matter.

The weight they carried crushed them both, and ground their bones to dust.

(But they don't die.)

–

More flashes then:

Pain and his body crumbling to dust.

An offer from former enemies.

A long list of names, and a bullet for each.

Breaking glass and old _friends._

A table filled with people Gabriel will _never_ trust.

A leather jacket with a number.

The heat of the desert, and a confrontation.

“Where is he?”

“Right here, Jack.”

–

Gabriel claws his way out of his memories, gasping. The flashbacks threaten to pull him under again. It's too much, too much, _too goddamn much!_ He curls in on himself, sobbing.

Reaper acknowledges the tears, but has no pity.

“No more, no more, please,” he begs himself. But Reaper doesn't take prisoners. He lost the patience for it a long time ago.

“Look,” he snarls at himself, anger burning hot in his chest, “You can't hide from it forever. _Look_ , you damn bastard!”

He shoves himself, kicking and screaming, into the last memory that matters.

–

The memory is this:

It's Gabriel and Jack again, but this time they're Soldier:76 and Reaper, and they're on the botched mission from hell.

They're on separate sides—have been for awhile. Reaper and Soldier:76 have been blasted so far apart from each other, it's a wonder they still remember a time when they were close. Ha, what a lie. They are still close. They've been together their entire lives, and as much as they push away from each other, they also draw each other in. No one will understand Jack Morrison like Gabriel Reyes and vice versa. All it takes is an unspoken signal, and they end up separating from their teams.

Their one-on-one duel is something familiar, routine, to the point that it's predictable to Reaper. He's danced to this song with Soldier a hundred thousand times before. Like right here, when Gabriel points his shotguns pointblank at Jack's chest, Jack will dive out of the way. He always does.

Gabriel doesn't care if his assault will be worthless. His adrenaline is up, and the heat of battle is making everything sharp and bright. He unloads both clips of his guns into the space where Jack's torso was, laughing wildly as he does so.

“ _DIE DIE DIE!”_

It's not until after he's tossed away the used weapons that Reaper realizes his mistake.

The scent of copper assaults his nose, and the scene before him...

There's so much _red_. So much. It's spilled everywhere. Messy.

_Red. So much red. Dyeing and dying._

Some distant part of Reaper's mind points out that he's seen carnage like this plenty of times. Has been the cause of it more times than he can count. But this...

There's a mangled body in the middle of all that _red_.

_Jack? Jack, what are you doing? Why didn't you dodge?_

It's like a film playing in slow motion. Reaper pulls the mask away from Soldier:76's face with one hand, while the other hauls up Jack's body roughly. Jack's head tips to one side, and he hangs limply from Reaper's grip, like so much dead weight. (No. No, not _dead_.) Reaper's screaming in Jack's face, the words blending together. He doesn't really hear what he's saying. Accusations, maybe. Cries for help. Apologies. It doesn't matter.

It's just white noise.

Brilliant crimson slips from Jack's slack mouth, coating his chin and painting his lips cherry red. The blood follows the curve of his lips, making Jack look like he's smiling at a secret. But it's wrong, it's fucking _wrong._

(Jack hasn't smiled at Gabriel for years.)

“Jack?”

Jack doesn't answer. His blue eyes seem to stretch on forever, an endless summer sky, but they're empty like glass, and stare through Gabriel without seeing him.

For Reaper, victory has never tasted so much like ash.

–

When Gabriel surfaces out of his memories again, he's choking on air. He's kneeling on the ground, his body floppy and uncoordinated, like a string-less puppet. His head is a mess, stuffed full with decades of images. He can't sort them out. He _can't._ It's just...it's just—

It hits him them. Gabriel's search for home was worthless. He had no home. He had destroyed it a long time ago.

He started to gasp, trying to suck in air to calm his whirling mind when, suddenly, he realized he wasn't alone.

“Hey,” a quiet voice greeted him from behind. Gabriel stiffened, and closed his eyes, unable to turn around and look. He both desired and loathed to see what he would find.

“Morrison,” Gabriel croaked tiredly, then corrected himself, “ _Jack_. You're supposed to be dead.”

Jack doesn't so much laugh as wheeze bitterly.

“Didn't take,” Jack replied, reusing one of Gabriel's own old responses back at him.

Gabriel shook his head, still seeing crimson splattered behind his eyelids.

“Don't even joke about that shit, you fucking liar.”

Jack doesn't bother to defend himself. Gabriel knows the truth. He had been running from it, but...he knows now. Everything he's seen so far in this broken town, this broken building? Just an illusion.

They lapse into silence. Gabriel's ragged breathing is too loud in the quiet. Jack, on the other hand, doesn't make a sound.

“So, what now?” Gabriel forces himself to spit out, as he clumsily clambers to his feet.

“Now?” Jack echoed, “Now you make a choice.”

“A choice, huh?” Gabriel snorted, “What choice?”

Gabriel felt a hand land on his shoulder.

“That should be obvious, Gabe. Turn around.”

Gabriel shook his head, unwilling. He didn't want to _see._ But...but there's no where else to go. The only way—the only way was _forward._

The hand fell away from Gabriel's shoulder, and slowly, he turned around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onward to the multiple endings!  
> If you want to pick an ending there's 2 ways to do it. You can have Gabe make a choice, or you can go through a little challenge. (Of course you can decide to read all the endings.)
> 
> **Choice Route:**  
>  _Do you want Gabe to look up and see:_
> 
>   * Jack, the young Strike-Commander that Gabe's been searching for?  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 1: _Run_
>   * Morrison, the steadfast companion that's been with Gabe throughout his journey?  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 2: _Fuse_
>   * “Soldier”, the monster that's been tormenting Gabe throughout his journey?  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 3: _Awaken_
>   * Soldier:76, the man from Gabe's memories?  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 4: _New_
> 

> 
>   
> **Challenge Route:**  
>  _Play a mini game/scavenger hunt with the story to determine what_  
>  ending you get:
> 
>   * You found some alliteration  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 1: _Run_
>   * You caught the trick with Jack's letter  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 2: _Fuse_
>   * Find the hidden pattern with the chapter titles (minus the ending chapter titles). Look carefully at the title(s)  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 3: _Awaken_
>   * Find the hidden pattern with the ending chapter titles. Look carefully at the title(s)  
> 
> 

>     * Go to Ending 4: _New_
> 

> 
> Edit: If you want to see the answers for the Challenge route I made a post [here](https://notitlesapply.tumblr.com/post/176933772523/disrepair-now-complete)


	9. Ending 1: Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stage: Anger)

The first thing Gabriel notices when he turns around and opens his eyes is that he's facing a wall of windows. The blinds are up and the light of the setting sun bathes the room in reds and golds. Morrison—Jack—is leaning against a desk in front of Gabriel. Jack is dressed in a crisp blue uniform. His hair is blond and there are freckles across his face, not scars. Gabriel's memories are still a jumbled mess, so it takes him a moment to recognize the scene before him.

Gabriel is in Strike-Commander Morrison's office in Overwatch Headquarters, Zurich Switzerland.

But that's impossible, his memories insist. That place doesn't exist anymore. The person before him doesn't exist anymore. Everything he's seeing is _wrong._

Before he had been too afraid to admit the truth. Now...now he's fucking pissed off.

“Who the hell are you?” Gabriel growled, hostility clear in his voice. The fake “Jack” frowned, disappointment clear on his face.

“I thought you remembered.”

“I do,” Gabriel confirmed, his body still tense, “And I'll ask again: who the _fuck_ are you?”

“Jack Morrison,” came the reply.

“Jack Morrison is dead,” Gabriel snapped, his fists clenching, “I killed him myself. You...you're just a ghost that I've been chasing. You're not real.”

A wry smile crossed “Jack's” face, causing Gabriel to hiss like an angry cat. Jack, the real Jack, hadn't smiled at Gabriel for years. Gabriel is furious that his own mind would conjure up a delusion like this. Gabriel doesn't deserve Jack's smiles.

“You're right,” the fake “Jack” admitted, that rueful little smile still firmly in place, “I am a ghost. I'm not real. None of this is.”

“This is...just in my mind,” Gabriel said, feeling sick as he admitted to it out loud.

“Mmm,” “Jack” hummed noncommittally, “You know, back in SEP, those chemicals they pumped in us didn't just give us bigger muscles. They also changed our brains. Then you can add in Moira's experiments. So what you're experiencing now might be something...a bit unique. Maybe.”

“Jack” ran his fingers over his desk, his blue eyes growing distant and thoughtful.

“I think,” the blond continued slowly, “I'm an accident. You've never killed another SEP graduate before. You absorbed all those extra super-solider drugs—your body chemistry, your nanites, probably got all confused. That's why you're in this fucking coma.”

“Coma?” Gabriel echoed, suspicious, “How—what makes you think I'm in a _coma_?”

“Jack” shrugged, “That should be obvious.”

Gabriel shook his head, “No, Jack. It's not. I don't understand. I don't understand any of this, this, _crap_ that's been shoved in my head. All that stuff? Those memories? They're not mine.”

“Jack” looked up, startled, “What? Of course they're yours!”

“No,” Gabriel shook his head again as he took a step back from the apparition in front of him, “You said it yourself. None of this is real. You're not real. Those memories. Those aren't real. They _can't_ be.”

“Jack's” face twisted, looking pained as he reached out towards Gabriel, “Gabe...”

“NO!” Gabriel shouted, dodging the fake's touch and then slugging the blond in the face. “Jack” stumbled back, a startled cry escaping his lips.

Gabriel felt so fucking _confused,_ like a compass without a needle. And angry. So fucking angry.

“It's _you_!” Gabriel snarled irrationally, glaring at the fake Jack, “You're the one keeping me here! Let me out, you bastard! I want to go home! I want to wake up!”

“Jack” put up placating hands, “Gabriel. Listen—”

Gabriel _pounced._ He dove at the ghost, slamming the blond to the ground. Gabriel crouched over “Jack,” and began strike that blue-eyed face with fists and elbows.

It was like he wasn't even in control of his body anymore. He just _hit_ , over and _over,_ his mind just melting with nonsense.

“Wake up,” Gabriel ordered himself, as he punched that familiar face, again and again, “Wake up, wake up, _wake up, Reyes!_ ”

There was a crack of bone. Then another. And _another._ His eyes were starting to blur, so he shut them tight.

“This is just a dream,” Gabriel continued to babble, “Just a dream. Wake up!”

The cracks of bone were starting to soften, the sound starting to _squelch._ The body beneath him had long stopped moving.

(Wake up.)

Gabriel opened his eyes. He instantly regretted it.

Red. He was covered in it. Gabriel scrambled off of “Jack,” trembling violently as he held his hands out in front of him. There was gore everywhere. When he turned his eyes down to the body on the ground, his stomach flipped when he realized he had just _bashed Jack's head in._

“Oh God,” Gabriel gasped, sickened. He stumbled back, his eyes taking in the fractured skull poking out of mangled skin. Pulpy gray matter was splattered on the ground...was splattered all over Gabriel's hands.

“It's just a dream,” Gabriel gibbered, even as he sunk to the ground next to Jack's mutilated body, “Just a dream, just a dream.”

He started to hyperventilate.

“Just a dream, just a dream, _justadream_!” Gabriel screamed until his throat felt raw, “Wake up!”

He covered his face with his bloody palms, trying to stem the tears. Instead, he just breathed in the scent of copper.

Oh God. He had just killed...

“Nooo,” Gabriel moaned, shaking his head in a futile attempt to clear it, “I didn't...I didn't mean...I didn't... _Jack!_ Wake up! Wake up, Jack! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry...I didn't...Why did I...Oh _fuck!_ Oh God. Oh God.”

What sort of sick fuck was he? A monster. He was a fucking monster.

“I'm sorry,” Gabriel whimpered, his hands rubbing red streaks across his face, “I'm sorry...Wake up, Jack. Please let this be a dream. It can't end like this...”

Gabriel closed his eyes, breathing raggedly. Bile bubbled at the back of his throat. He thought he felt a hand on his back, but it had to have been his imagination. When he opened his eyes again, he was...somewhere else.

Some _one_ else.

–

.

.

.

(Try again?)

.

.

.

–

A man with no memories woke up in a gray-lit town filled with broken buildings and crowned with a dreary sky. He was lying on a cracked asphalt street, completely out in the open. He sat up, muddled confusion humming in his head. Cliched, almost useless questions fly through his head. What day was it? Where was he? Who was he?

He should be panicking, or at least shouting for help. But there was no one near—just him and the gray world. With shaking hands, he patted himself down.

_'I'll figure this out,'_ he thought with determination as his shaking died down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this one the replay ending. The idea is after this ending, Gabriel goes through the dream again, and (hopefully) chooses a different path.


	10. Ending 2: Fuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stage: Denial)

As soon as Gabriel turned around, he realized that he was no longer in a darkened bedroom, but back in the ruined office where he...where Morrison...

He was in the ruined office where he last saw the “Soldier.” The furniture was still smashed from the “Reaper's” rage and there were deep gouges scarring the walls. There was a wide bloodstain on the floor, big enough to outline the shape of a man. Gabriel jerked his gaze away, not wanting the reminder.

Gabriel looked up and saw Morrison, as Gabriel knew him from their time running through this hellhole looking for home. White hair, scarred face, and grimy monochrome clothing only broken up by red gloves on his hands. There's nothing around his neck, but Gabriel can easily imagine barbed wire and blood.

For a few minutes, Gabriel just stares at the apparition in front of him, guilt a heavy stone in his belly.

Finally, Gabriel admits to Morrison, “You're right.”

Morrison arched an eyebrow, surprised, “Oh?”

“About my choice,” Gabriel clarified, “You're right. The choice _is_ pretty obvious. There's one world where you're dead—and another where you're alive. I think I'd rather be in the one where you're still alive.”

It's funny watching the emotions play over Morrison's face. First blue eyes widen in surprise, then they narrow in disbelief. Then the realization that Gabriel is serious hits Morrison, and the disbelief melts away into rage—and worry.

“Gabe, you can't just pretend that I'm still alive!” Morrison shouted, anger and fear stirring together into a dangerous cocktail, “You can't live in denial!”

“Watch me!” Gabe snapped back, pushing back at Morrison and crowding into the other man's space until they were nose to nose, “You might be willing to accept your fate, but I refuse! I fucking refuse, got that?”

They spent a moment just breathing in the same air, their mouths inches apart.

“Why?” Morrison asked, the single word startling quiet midst the tension between them, “You didn't care before.”

Gabriel flinched, trying to push back the flashes of still alien feeling memories that statement provoked. There was another moment of silence before Morrison shifted back slightly to lean against the desk, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling.

“I'm just a ghost, Gabe,” Morrison muttered gloomily, “A leftover that your mind, nanites, whatever, can't let go of for some bullshit reason. You remember everything now, right? You hated me. You should be happy that I'm dead. Why are you keeping me around?”

Gabriel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “Fuck. See, that there is why you're not just some illusion. If you really were just some cobbled together dream or some shit like that, then you'd already know why I can't let you go.”

Morrison looked back at Gabriel surprised. Gabriel wanted to laugh. That face, that face right there...so expressive and alive. Morrison was far more real than anything in this place. More real than Gabriel himself. Morrison wasn't some _thing,_ some figment of Gabriel's imagination. He existed as a person, unique and distinct to himself.

And that unique existence was so incredibly important to Gabriel. Even when Gabriel had been hollowed out, his memories scooped out like the guts of a gourd, he had still been able to identify Morrison as someone precious, as someone important.

“I don't understand,” Morrison confessed, “You're supposed to hate me.”

“Maybe you're right,” Gabriel agreed, feeling terribly sad, “Maybe the real 'Gabriel Reyes' hated your guts, and would be celebrating you kicking the bucket. But if that's the real 'me' then I don't want to be him. I don't want to live like that, and I don't want to live in a shitty world without you in it!”

Gabriel heaved in deep breaths, his body shaking and vision blurry. For a moment, his vision blurred so bad, he thought Morrison had disappeared. A terrified moan slipped out of his mouth, and he reached out, his hands extending, _searching_.

Warm arms wrapped around him, grounding and solid. More real than anything in this world.

“Okay,” Morrison breathed quietly, rubbing soothing circles into Gabriel's back, “Okay, Gabe. If you want me, I'll stay. We can stay. Just for a little bit longer.”

Just for a little bit longer...

 


	11. Ending 3: Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stage: Depression)

Gabriel turns around, and is faced with decaying walls and rows upon rows of metal gurneys. The light is dim, but serviceable, and it flickers madly. The smell of copper fills the air, and a steady _drip, drip_ echoes in his ear.

He's back in the morgue, but there is no longer an atmosphere of fear cloaking the place. There's just...sorrow.

Gabriel looks up and sees the “Soldier” in all its—his—blood drenched glory. There's a new gaping slash across the creature's throat, and the hell-fire visor is gone, revealing Morrison's glassy eyes on the monster's mutilated face. The tattered jacket is unzipped, exposing the holes that marred the pale flesh. Gabriel knows that as bad as the damage looks like from the front, the back must just be a maze of misshapen meat. The bullets from his guns were _always_ bigger on the exit.

Gabriel quickly looked away, sickened at seeing the damage. The “Soldier” was never the monster here. It was Gabriel, this entire time.

“I'm sorry,” Gabriel apologized, but he could admit that it's not enough. It's just...words, weak ones at that. There was not enough atonement in the world that could erase what Gabriel had done.

Gabriel doesn't even remember Jack's last words to him. He was there, and he doesn't remember Jack's last words. It's just a haze of anger and regret. So much regret.

“I didn't think I would win,” Gabriel confessed, feeling small and numb and wholly inadequate, “I thought you would dodge. You _always_ dodge. Why didn't you...Fuck, that's wrong, I—Why did I pull the trigger? Oh God, why did I pull the trigger, Jack?”

Gabriel's hands were shaking. He never wanted to kill Jack. Didn't think it was possible, honestly. He had spent so much time either fighting with Jack or against him that Gabriel just couldn't imagine a life without the other man. Gabriel always expected that Jack would kill him or that they'd die together.

Why the _hell_ did Gabriel pull the trigger?!

“You told me once that someone was going to put an end to me. Why didn't you?” Gabriel asked, a pleading note in his voice, “Why didn't you end me?! Why was it _you_?”

The “Soldier” (no, no, it was _Jack,_ it always was Jack) didn't answer. He probably couldn't, not with the damage to his throat. Gabriel finally looked up at Jack and stepped closer, within touching distance. He reached out, and when Jack didn't pull away, he carefully ran his hands over the damage inflicted across Jack's body.

“Just another sin to add to the pile,” Gabriel whispered as his hands turned red with Jack's blood. His hands would never be clean of Jack's blood.

Jack caught one of Gabriel's hands with his own, squeezing once. Jack's hand was cold, so cold, and it leeched the heat from Gabriel.

Gabriel glanced down at their joined hands and asked helplessly, “What am I supposed to do without you?”

–

Later, Gabriel woke up in the real world, secure in his private quarters within one of Talon's many safe houses. The dream is over, and Jack is gone. Gabriel feels adrift, a boat without an anchor.

Despite the fact the room is supposed to be private, there's someone there to greet him as he sits up in his bed.

“Heeey, Gabe,” Sombra drawled, trying for nonchalance, but the words came out worried instead, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Sombra,” Gabriel replied, trying not to flinch at the nickname she used. Her sharp eyes picked up on the reaction anyway, but she didn't comment. Gabriel wasn't stupid enough to think she forgot about it though.

“You've been out for a few days,” Sombra informed him, “The doc had a few ideas why that was. Want to hear them?”

“No,” Gabriel said shortly. They lapse into silence, but Gabriel can tell that Sombra had something else on her mind.

“Spit it out,” Gabriel growled.

Sombra shrugged, “I was just a little curious. What were you dreaming about?”

Gabriel stiffened, his mouth going dry. At first, he wanted to lie and say nothing, or snap at her that it wasn't any of her business.

Instead he says, “An old friend.”

“Huh,” Sombra muttered, “Must have been some friend.”

Gabriel hummed, thinking. He would owe her, but...he had to know.

“Sombra, I need you to find something for me.”

–

Overwatch had buried Jack under a fake name in a quiet little cemetery not far from the old Gibraltar Watchpoint. Gabriel wonders who's idea that was. He was sure the recalled Overwatch would have tried to bury Jack in his empty grave back in Arlington so it could house the former Strike-Commander in truth. Or maybe they should have sent the body to Bloomington so Jack's family could finally have some closure.

He wondered if any of them read Jack's old will asking for a cremation. Jack had wanted his ashes spread to the wind and sea so he could travel the world one last time.

Gabriel is selfishly glad they didn't. He wanted to...mourn. Graves were for the living. Graves were a concrete place to visit and remember the people that were lost.

Gabriel sits down in front of Jack's grave. It's a simple headstone, one that Jack might have liked if it didn't have the wrong name on it. There are flowers already laid out, but they've already started to brown. Gabriel clears them away, replacing them with fresh marigolds.

“Hey, Jack,” Gabriel began, his voice rough, “You won't believe what happened...”

Gabriel talks about the dreamworld. His mistakes. The lessons he thinks he learned. Sometimes the dream seems more real than the real world, and, for all its perils, Gabriel almost wishes he could return to it.

“I want to go back because you were there with me,” Gabriel confessed, “But, I'm not sure if 'Morrison' was really you or not. Sometimes I think that it really was you—we've seen some weird shit in our lives, so you coming to haunt my dreams isn't that far-fetched.”

Gabriel paused, licking his lips. There was an ache in his chest, a hollowness that couldn't be filled. He wanted, so badly, to seep into the ground and lay his head on Jack's chest. Perhaps the two of them could sleep in Jack's mislabeled tomb together forever.

Gabriel tried to push the dark thought away. He was not entirely successful.

“I think, I think it would be better for my sanity if it wasn't really you,” Gabriel continued, “But I still want it to be real. I want you to exist—to be alive—somewhere.

“I really fucked it up this time, Jack,” Gabriel choked out, clenching his hands into shaking fists, “I don't really know what I'm going to do going forward. Should I stay with Talon? Should I turn myself into Overwatch?”

Gabriel laughed quietly to himself. As if Winston and his rag-tag band of misfits could contain Reaper. They wouldn't be able to, not without Jack.

The ache of wanting to rest next to Jack only grew.

“This would be the part where you tell me what you think I should do, Jack,” Gabriel told the headstone, “But I don't know if I would take your advice even if you could give it to me. Which is fucked up.”

Gabriel waits, but no answer comes. It is then that he notices people entering the graveyard. He thinks he recognizes some of the new Overwatch members, and decides its time to leave. He gives the headstone one last pat before he shadow-steps away.

“Good night, Jack. I'll see you later.”

 


	12. Ending 4: New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Stage: Bargaining)

“A choice, huh?” Gabriel muttered to himself as he turned around and opened his eyes.

It's nighttime, which is a blessing. The air is warm in a way that hints at blistering heat at noon, but the night has tempered the heat to something bearable, even with all the black Gabriel is currently wearing.

Gabriel breathes out a stream of nanite filled smoke through the holes of a bone white mask. He's dressed in his usual leather and kevlar, and his memories have settled. He knows who he is. He remembers everything now.

He doesn't quite recognize the location he currently finds himself at. It's vaguely familiar, in the way that photographs of far off places are, but he doesn't think he's seen these sand covered walls in person before. Most of the room is barren, save for a tiny corner kitted out with a sad looking cot and a familiar beat up bag stamped with a dead man's name.

Said dead man is sitting on the cot, his gaze firmly trained on Gabriel.

“Hey,” Jack grunted at him. He's also dressed as he's supposed to be: dark fatigue pants and a stupidly bright jacket dyed in patriotic colors. His back is burdened with a number (not a name) and his face is hidden by his mask and visor, the glow from the tech bright in the darkness. His rifle lay across his lap, ready in a moment's notice.

Reaper briefly thinks about manifesting his own weapons in response, but Soldier:76 is not pointing his gun in Gabriel's direction, so Reaper can extend the same courtesy to Jack.

Silence stretched between them as they just stared at each other, observing. Reaper looks the other man over, top to bottom. Jack—Solider:76 looks okay. Better than when Reaper saw him alive last. Gabriel swallows down bile as the memory of Jack's bullet riddled body flashes before his mind.

Gabriel breaks the silence first, “It seems that no matter how many times you die, you still fucking haunt me, Jack.”

The joke falls flat, but Jack laughs anyway, his voice rusty, “Right back at you, Gabe.”

Reaper paused, unsure if he imagined the affection in Jack's voice or not. Soldier looks like he's about to speak again, but Reaper beats him to it.

“You're really here, aren't you?”

Soldier shrugged, “I guess. You tell me. You're the expert at chowing down human souls.”

“Don't,” Reaper growled, not bothering to hide the lance of hurt in his voice, “Just...fucking don't, Jack.”

“Why?” Soldier asked, his voice calm, but his words stinging like the crack of a whip, “Can't handle the truth? Surprise, asshole, you killed—”

“I KNOW!” Gabriel roared back, causing Soldier to tense.

A moment, then Gabriel looks away. “I know, Jack.”

“You sound disappointed, Gabe,” Soldier sneered, hot fury simmering in his tone, “Upset about remembering what you've done? Ignorance is bliss.”

Reaper felt his hackles rise, that old anger rising within him. As if Jack had any right to talk about blissful ignorance. It was Jack's naivety that helped bring about the fall of Overwatch. Reaper pushed away the small voice that pointed out his own contributions to the disaster that was their shared life. Anger, especially anger at Jack, was easier.

“You happy now?” Reaper hissed, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits, “I remember everything. Every. Fucking. Detail.”

Jack sighed, the anger fading away to be replaced with resigned exhaustion. His shoulders slumped, as if a heavy weight had been dumped on top of him.

“Don't be stupid, Gabe,” Jack muttered, looking away from Gabriel, “I was a shit ton happier following around your clueless ass. It was...nice, you know? Working with you again. It felt like old times. When you didn't remember, I could pretend—fuck it. Never mind.”

Another beat of silence. Reaper hated it. There were so many things he wanted to say. Angry accusations. Quiet confessions. There were so many things between the two of them. Hatred. Love. A rift so wide it could never be breached, and a bond so strong it could never be broken. Reaper didn't have enough time to express it all, but he had to try.

He didn't get the chance. Just as he started to reach out to his (friend? enemy? the only person in all of fucking existence that truly understood him) the world around them started to be filled with light.

(Was the sun rising?)

“Oh,” Jack breathed, his voice soft and sad, “Guess this is it. We're out of time.”

“What?” Gabriel hissed, as the light built around them.

The light scattered and fragmented, golden beams obscuring Jack's form. Gabriel was shouting—screaming—but it was no use. His hands reached out to Jack, trying to grab onto the old soldier, but his claws caught on nothing.

“No!” Gabriel gasped, true fear curling in his gut, “It can't end like this! Jack!”

_(Wake up.)_

–

Gabriel Reyes, better known now as the Talon mercenary Reaper, wakes up in the real world. A few quick glances around informs him that he's in a lab on a Talon base.

“Good morning, Commander,” Moira greets him from his left. Gabriel doesn't bother to correct her on the title. He hasn't been her Commander in years.

“Tell me, how do you feel?” she asked, professional as always. He ignored her, sitting up and cradling his head in his hands.

He's not trembling. He's _not._

Next to him, Moira chats away, going over what had happened and her hypothesis. After the last mission, Reaper's nanites had gone haywire, overloading themselves, and knocking Gabriel unconscious. He had been in a coma for the past three days.

Gabriel's barely paying attention to her, until she starts going over her theories for his strange reaction.

“—haps it was a chemical reaction to the sudden influx of the SEP serum—”

“Wait, what?” Gabriel growled, his ears catching on the acronym “SEP,” “What about the Soldier Enhancement Program?”

Moira rubbed her forehead, annoyed at his lack of attention, “You were exposed to an extra dose of the SEP cocktail on that last mission, when your nanites absorbed Soldier:76.”

The air in Gabriel's lungs freeze, and the world seems to shrink and fill with white noise.

Jack was...Jack had died. In front of Reaper—to Reaper's guns. It only made sense that his nanites, regardless if Gabriel thought about it consciously or not, had acted within their usual protocols and had fed.

He didn't just kill Jack, he had...he had...

(In the dream world, Gabriel was never hungry.)

Gabriel didn't even think about it. He just reacted. His body collapsed into dust and smoke, and rushed to the nearest air vent. Moira yelled after him, complaining about tests, but Gabriel didn't care.

He had to get away.

Gabriel mind was racing. Oh fuck, what had he done? He wanted to be sick, but a cloud of smog and ash didn't have a mouth or stomach to vomit with.

He thought he was going to fall apart, right there in the HVAC system. Then, a calmer (crueler) part of him pointed out some facts his panicking mind was skipping.

Gabriel turned towards his private quarters, reforming there away from the prying eyes of the rest of Talon. He felt a strange tranquility settle over him, the previous agitation fading away. There is a warmth in his gut, something bright, golden, and alien. It doesn't belong to him. He grins viciously to himself as he looks to the shadows, concentrates, and holds out his hand.

“I know you're still there,” Reaper sneered to hide the hope that threatened to drown him, “And we're not fucking done, asshole.”

The Reaper ate souls, but it only made sense that an ornery bastard like Jack Morrison would refuse to be digested.

His nanites buzz and wisp around him, and slowly the excess smoke leaking from him gathers. From the shadows in front of Gabriel, a red-gloved hand reaches out. Gabriel grabs it, and it stays solid in his grasp.

 


End file.
